


Anything

by dll10



Series: All is Well Time Travel Trilogy [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29098125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dll10/pseuds/dll10
Summary: An accident sent Hermione far back in time to when she was a teenager, over a year prior.  Since then, she has fallen in love with Remus, made friends with people destined to die, and tried to aid the Order wherever possible.  Yet it seems that for every success, there's a failure.  How much will her presence in the past change?  And will those changes be good or bad?  Sequel to Something.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks/George Weasley
Series: All is Well Time Travel Trilogy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134929
Comments: 54
Kudos: 109





	1. 1: Can Things Possibly Get Any Worse?

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

This is the sequel to _Something._ You probably need to read that first for this story to make sense. If you have already read it, hopefully, you’ll enjoy seeing Remus and Hermione’s journey continue through what was her sixth year.

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

PAGE BREAK

Chapter 1: Can Things Possibly Get Any Worse?

July 1996

Brockdale Bridge

 _Boom!_ The ground beneath Hermione’s feet quivered, trembling as it gave a mighty heave. The rattling continued, and Hermione staggered, nearly falling to her knees. The blast shook the bridge she was poised on, but somehow it held fast. 

For now.

Another hit like that though...

Scanning her surroundings, Hermione caught sight of two Death Eaters nearby. She’d lost track of the others in the immediate chaos. 

“ _Stupefy!_ ” she cried, attempting to Stun the closer of the two masked figures.

He threw up a shield, and her spell bounced harmlessly off the surface of the invisible barrier. The other hooded attacker continued merrily firing spells at the vehicles trapped on the bridge. Death Eaters were waiting at either end too, blocking any chance of forward progress or retreat. Flashes of brilliantly colored light were randomly being fired at the sitting ducks.

The sound of shattering glass rent the air, followed by a loud, piercing scream.

Before Hermione could locate the source of the distressed cry, she spun, ducking behind the guardrail just in time to avoid the curse he leveled her way. From between two of the metal and concrete pillars, she could make out Remus and Fred dueling five more Death Eaters at the far end of the bridge. Both appeared to be holding their own.

The three of them had been stationed at the bridge all morning, George staying in Diagon Alley to open the shop. Hermione had known the attack would happen that day. She just hadn’t quite been able to recall _when_ it happened, or if the _Prophet_ even mentioned. The paper had been so far behind the times, reporting things weeks after they occurred more often than not. 

She was truly beginning to hate how unreliable her memories were. If it had been a book rather than a newspaper, her memory would probably be pristine. Crisp and clear as the real thing. 

Her memory had always been a source of pride for her. Able to retain even the most obscure information that others overlooked. But she’d deliberately blocked out most of the war once she was no longer in constant mortal peril. And now it was so much mist and whispers.

Another spell explored the concrete pillar to her right. Jagged gravel rocketed towards her, scratching the arms she hastily threw up to avoid getting a face full of the sudden projectiles.

The attack, when it started a few minutes earlier, happened faster than she’d anticipated. Kingsley was supposed to have come as well, but the newly appointed Minister Scrimgeour had refused to give him leave from his new appointment guarding the Muggle Prime Minister. He also had Tonks following up on a Death Eater sighting near Wimbourne, which she should have been done with by now to join them. Except she’d still not arrived, so they were short on Order members to help avoid the disaster currently playing out before her eyes. At least as far as Order members that knew about her went. 

“ _Impedimenta!_ ” Hermione cried, missing when the Death Eater ducked behind a car. She didn’t dare aim any closer for fear of making the now angrily smoking car ignite instead.

Hermione continued lobbing spell after spell at the two Death Eaters nearest as she silently cursed the Minister. He’d not taken the intel of an attack seriously when the pair of Aurors had refused to name the source of the information. It wasn’t as though they could come right out and say their informant was from the future, and the Minister had become suspicious and started demanding to know if Harry was the one that had told them using his connection with Voldemort that everyone was suddenly believing he possessed.

It was the last, more than anything, that forced them to back off. Scrimgeour was far too eager to make Harry his poster boy, and was willing to use any in he could take advantage of to make it happen.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” one of the unknown Death Eaters cried delightedly. Repeatedly launching the Killing Curse at the front row of cars, and laughing dementedly when it caused the metal to melt and contort, the engines hissing and steaming more dangerously. Little plumes of smoke made the downcast day hazier than it already was. “ _Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra!_ ”

Through the windshields, Hermione could just make out the distorted expressions of terror on the occupants’ faces. Hermione took aim, firing the Disarming spell, knowing he needed to be taken out before he succeeded.

 _Boom!_ A second blast sent the previously weakened bridge careening, and throwing off her aim. The riotous sounds of steel and cement grinding ominously tore the sky in two, rattling the heavens. The ground beneath her feet crumbled, so much shifting rumble. 

Hermione Disapparated, reappearing on the bank beside Fred and Remus, who’d also Apparated to their designated meeting spot just into time to witness the support beams give way. Then the bridge was a slick and terrifying slide, the cars rolling steadily towards the dark, churning water some forty feet below.

The air was thick with dust, thick enough to cut, and difficult to see through. Distant shapes were a blur through the demolition fog, though the tragic scene was rapidly becoming sharper as ominous plunking began sounding. It wasn’t happening in slow motion the way some unwelcome horrors did. No. It was speeding by, faster than a train.

“Remus, cover me!” Hermione cried, noticing several of the Death Eaters had also appeared nearby, and were beginning to aim spells in their direction.

“ _WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!_ ” she called desperately, catching the final vehicle seconds before it plunged into the murky depths.

Immediately, her jaw clenched and her arm trembled. The spell wasn’t meant to levitate such a heavy object. Grimly, she held on, carefully guiding it towards the riverbank opposite from where they stood facing off with six of Lord Voldemort’s merciless supporters.

Hermione swore under her breath as the people inside the well-kept light blue Nissan scrambled about, the woman in the passenger seat rolling down the window to shriek, “Help! Help us! Please!”

“ _REDUCTO!_ ” a man screamed triumphantly. The red beam of light soared directly for the car, ripping the metal frame apart when it hit. 

Hermione had barely gasped when the remaining portion of the car exploded, a massive hovering fireball. The ruined remnants were engulfed in flames as it plummeted, entering the water with a great, thundering _splash!_

“No!” Hermione wailed, horrified by the events that had just taken place.

The Death Eater was laughing at her reaction, bent double as he gasped around the sick mirth spilling from his lips. 

“Look out!” Remus warned, roughly hauling her back several paces with a grip on her robes. A curse blew a divot in the ground where she’d been standing moments before. 

Then they were fighting again, hurling curses and hexes as fast as they possibly could. The spells lit up the day, bright against the dreary, cloudy day.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw someone break the surface of the water, sputtering and gasping for breath.

“ _Crucio!_ ” a Death Eater bellowed.

“ _Protego!_ ” Fred cried, trying to block the spell aimed at the Muggle that was treading water. But there was no blocking an Unforgivable Curse. The man floundered, his arms flailing helplessly as he gave a muffled cry, swallowing and choking on the raging river water as the curse seized his body. He lost control of his limbs, submerging.

He did not resurface again.

The fighting continued. Somehow, despite being outnumbered, they appeared to be evenly matched. Either that or the Death Eaters were merely toying with them, having succeeded in what they’d set out to accomplish that day. Hermione was loath to admit that was probably the case. 

Finally, just as Hermione was starting to feel exhaustion weighing down her limbs, making her reactions dangerously sluggish, the Death Eaters began Disapparating. The pops nearly synchronized as though they were responding to some hidden signal or prearranged plan. Perhaps even the summoning of their Master as he touched a tattooed Dark Mark on another member’s arm miles away. 

Hermione scanned the banks once they’d gone, searching for survivors. But there were no signs of life.

“ _Accio --_ ”

Fred grabbed her arm, tugging it down from where she’d pointed it at the water, all the while shaking his head.

“Hermione, don’t. It’s been too long,” he warned, sadness marring his usually jovial expression.

“I have to try. _Accio car!_ ” she called, feeling the strain set into her tired, aching body as it had when she’d levitated the car earlier.

“Oh Merlin,” she gasped, sagging at the sight that greeted her.

Water slouched off the roof and boot, cascading back to the murky, dark surface in a gleaming, shimmering waterfall. The inside of the car was completely filled with water. And easily visible within were the floating bodies of the family that had been out driving on this fateful Wednesday afternoon.

They looked like they were merely asleep. The woman had long sable hair that waved about her head like tendrils of swaying seaweed. The little boy, no more than three, still had his hands curled into tight balls, a sodden stuffed teddy bear still clutched in one chubby fist. Hermione couldn’t see the driver, but she knew he was there as well.

Strong arms wrapped around her, letting her lean against a solid, familiar chest. Warmth and chocolate invaded her senses, cocooning her, and Hermione dragged in a ragged breath. It clawed its way in, tasting of soot and broken hope.

“Remus,” she gasped, his name a plea, begging him to tell her that what she was seeing was a lie. No more than a twisted mirage drawn up by the recently departed Death Eaters. A cruel visage formed of ash from the ruins. Nothing more than wasted vapors.

But he couldn’t. Because it was real.

Remus tried to guide her away, to turn her around and hug her to his chest so that she didn’t have to see the tragic sight a moment longer, but Hermione resisted, guiding the car to the empty stretch of land nearby.

“We have to check the rest. There were at least a dozen cars that fell in,” Hermione insisted stubbornly, squaring her jaw and straightening out of Remus’s comforting hold. There would be time for regrets and mourning later.

Remus and Fred exchanged looks. A five inch long cut was bleeding on Fred’s arm, red liquid steadily weeping from the parted flesh, bloody tears shed for those recently lost. It looked quite deep, but he steadfastly ignored it.

“Yeah, all right, Hermione. We can check,” Fred agreed softly, but he already wore a wrecked, defeated look. 

One after another, they summoned each car from its water grave, guiding them to the bank once they’d broken the surface. Three were empty, two with their glass shattered from curses before they’d ever made the plunge.

“Do you think it’s possible --”

“No, Hermione. I’m sorry. I saw one of the Death Eaters kill at least two Muggles that surfaced,” Remus said gently, though honestly.

“Right,” she said crisply, maintaining her composure. “Right, yes, of course.”

“That was the last of them,” Fred said gently.

With a last look around, Hermione took in the devastation and destruction. Every fiber of her being cried out, rebelling against the unfairness of what had just taken place. How could anyone commit such atrocities?

“Right. So much for trying to save them,” she said bitterly, a hollow sob catching in her throat.

Perhaps if Scrimgeour had let Tonks or Kingsley accompany them, it would have gone differently. They’d not have been so outnumbered. Maybe... 

“Hermione --”

“Remus, you should probably get her out of here before the Ministry officials arrive,” Fred suggested, sensing she was losing the battle with maintaining her manufactured calm facade. 

Plus, he was correct. She couldn’t afford to be seen by the wrong people. Even with her disguised appearance, people were bound to ask questions. Particularly in times like these where anything out of the ordinary was automatically distrusted. Fear was a powerful influencer.

“I put up Muggle Repelling Charms this morning, hoping it’d keep these people away. Obviously it didn’t work, but I think you’ll need to dismantle them so the proper authorities come,” Hermione muttered bitterly, and Fred nodded, promising to do so.

Hermione let Remus Side-Along Apparate them home. Then she let him hold her while she cried, the image of the little boy branded to the inside of her tightly screwed shut eyes.

“Hermione…” Remus said quietly once her sobs had died down. She detected his concern, and felt guilty for worrying him.

“I’ll be all right, Remus. Promise,” she said, surprising herself by meaning it. She’d just needed a minute to grieve for the loss of innocence. “I knew it was a long shot, but I had to try.”

“I’m not sure I entirely understand how this closed loop you’re… for lack of a better term, stuck in, works,” he admitted. “You saved Sirius a couple weeks ago. But today...”

“Because no one knows that I did. At least no one that will share the information with my younger self or react in a way that hints to Sirius having survived that night,” Hermione explained, biting her lip and considering all of the possibilities. They shuffled through her like a deck of cards, providing flashes and fleeting glimpses of explanations and rationales that she’d been over a dozen times during the course of the last year. “And it has to stay that way until the loop closes. The only way I can change big events is if they remain undetected. Or if they don’t deviate from what I remember. 

“Today… I read about it before. That’s why I never had a chance. I can’t imagine the consequences should I change too much. I shouldn’t have tried, but all those people. Oh, Remus,” she babbled, shaking her head because she knew she wasn’t making very much sense. With a deep breath, she admitted, “Already there are lives deleted by my presence…”

Neither verbally acknowledged what she was alluding to, Remus’s decision not to have Teddy. Hermione was determined to accept his decision, determined to respect it -- even if it broke her heart. 

Among other things.

Because that decision also generated a whole slew of other potential complications. Complications for her specifically, since Teddy was, at least partially, responsible for sending her back in time. And Hermione had no idea what would happen if he no longer existed to be part of that accident. 

What would that mean? What would happen if she no longer went back? What would happen to Sirius?

She’d yet to tell Tonks anything either. An opportunity hadn’t presented itself with as busy as they’d been since news of Voldemort’s return became publicly recognized. Nearly every day this week something new cropped up requiring their immediate attention. Albus’s Patronuses were regular visitors at the cabin anymore, each with instructions and a destination where an attack was taking place.

“I remember reading about the bridge accident in the Prophet,” she continued doggedly, trying to defuse the awkward tension that had crept in on the wake of her reference, and explain a bit more coherently. “It made front page news. Same with Madam Bones. I guess I don’t know what I can change until I try. Aside from that, the changes I make… Well, they are all things I’ve already changed because I’ve always been here to make them.”

“I suppose,” he said dubiously, but he didn’t ask anything else, so she didn’t know what had him so perplexed.

And her mind was too caught up in the reminder that there was only so much that she could do as she’d mentioned Amelia Bones.

Because Hermione hadn’t fared any better three days earlier with the giants in West Country than she had with the Death Eaters today. Hermione had decided that if Albus wasn’t going to try and save the elder Bones witch, then she would. 

Only she hadn’t been able to. Remus had Disapparated them away moments before they would have been ripped apart when three of the giants cornered the pair of them.

Hermione had never even made it to Madam Bones’s house, situated on the same property as her brother’s family. The giants had kept her occupied while Voldemort fought Amelia in the house. Hermione hadn’t even gotten close.

This was rapidly turning into the worst week of her life.

It didn’t even matter that Remus had tried insisting Susan and her parents were alive because Hermione had convinced Albus to change his plans. Amelia was still dead. All those Muggles on the bridge were still dead. That little boy was still dead.

~

That night, Remus cooked them dinner, suspecting that Hermione wouldn’t be up to helping. Usually, they made dinner together, neither particularly enjoying the task of cooking, but somehow it was more fun when they did it together.

Tonks came by around the time Remus was finishing up.

“Wotcher,” Tonks greeted, looking around the place with interest, her violently purple hair in a chin-length bob right then. 

Tonks had been frequently owling Hermione during the last week, expressing her gratitude over Hermione helping her at the Ministry and trying to establish a friendship with her. The more Hermione got to know her, the more she liked her. Seeing Tonks in the cabin now made Hermione suspect that it was the young witch’s first time visiting Remus’s house. Her house now too. 

“We’re all meeting at the Burrow later this evening,” Tonks announced, directing her words to Remus since Hermione wouldn’t be able to attend.

“A meeting?” Remus inquired, brow furrowing. Dumbledore hadn’t sent prior word, which meant something must have happened to instigate the last minute gathering.

“It’s Emmeline Vance,” Tonks said sadly, slumping heavily into a chair at the kitchen table. She waved off Hermione’s offer of a butterbeer, shaking her head and sighing loudly. 

Foreboding gripped Hermione as she watched the downcast witch. The name tickled some memory at the edge of Hermione’s mind. It sounded familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“What happened to her?” Remus asked quietly, moving to take the open seat beside Hermione.

“Death Eaters surrounded her in London this afternoon. Witnesses mentioned hearing _Imerpio_ shouted several times. But it looks like she put up such a fight, that in the end, they’d decided it would be easier just to kill her. She’s gone,” Tonks related mournfully.

The young witch gave Hermione a pitying look, her vibrate hair at odds with the dreadful news she’d come to impart. Remus tensed visibly, and Hermione noticed his additional concern as he stared at Tonks, waiting for her to answer his silent demand.

“They’re all right. Didn’t notice a thing,” Tonks promised, offering Hermione an encouraging smile.

“What am I missing?” Hermione demanded, a quiver entering her voice. Obviously, she was missing something important here.

“You don’t know?” Tonks gasped, looking incredulously from Hermione to Remus and back at Hermione again.

“Know what?” Hermione demanded shrilly.

“Emmeline is in the Order. Vance was the one assigned to watch over your parents, and well… you while you’re with them this summer,” Remus explained, placing a calming hand over Hermione’s balled fist where it rested in her lap.

Emmeline was in the Order? Hermione hadn’t remembered. Hadn’t known to offer a warning that she was going to be attacked and murdered. She couldn’t remember Kingsley talking about her when they set up the tributes. No one else had either. Not to Hermione, at least. If she was in the Order, then Remus was probably friends with the witch. And now she too was dead.

And it happened because --

“She... _what?_ ”

Emmeline had been killed while protecting her and her family? Hermione had never even suspected she’d been in danger the summer before her sixth year. How had she missed an attack? Apparently, she had been targeted though, and definitely in danger. Quite a bit even.

“I thought you knew,” Remus said, studying her.

“No…no. I had no idea,” Hermione said slowly, working through the new information. She couldn’t wrap her head around it. The Order was protecting her family. Dumbledore had never told her -- before or now -- though the more she thought about it, the more it made sense that he’d take that precaution. Harry would have shouldered the guilt if something had happened to her family.

But why hadn’t he said anything to her the week before when he visited?

“Emmeline was attacked just outside your parents’ dentist office in London,” Tonks explained, sensing Hermione was still trying to piece everything together.

“I promise I’ll see to it that someone else is assigned. They’re obviously being targeted,” Remus mused, thinking over the other recent attacks. 

Nearly all had involved either high ranking Ministry personnel who were very verbally siding with Dumbledore, or they were individuals linked to Harry. There’d been an attack on the Burrow two nights earlier, but enough Order members were present that the Death Eaters quickly fled. It’d been decided not to tell Harry for fear that he’d blame himself, and he was already dealing with quite enough considering he believed his godfather had just died.

“All of the families that were at the Ministry last month are,” Tonks confirmed, adding, “Luckily the Lovegoods are out of the country, but Mrs. Longbottom was attacked late last night. She fought them off all on her own. That’s one witch I’d never dare cross.”

“Was that where you were today?” Hermione asked absently, still pondering her parents’ safety, and if she should intercede.

“Yeah. George told me about the bridge. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” Tonks said sincerely.

“I’ll leave a Stasis Charm on,” Hermione said, deflecting the topic as she gestured to the nearly cooked food. She did not wish to discuss their failure, and she knew Tonks and Remus needed to get a move on for the meeting.

~

Later, when Remus returned, he crawled into bed behind her.

“You came back,” she said, rolling into him. It was silly, but after the day she’d had, she’d been irrationally worried.

“I promised you I always would,” he reminded, kissing her gently. Then he offered, “Hestia Jones has agreed to take watch on you and your parents. She’ll look out for them.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly.

“Molly’s sending a letter round asking you to stay for the rest of summer. That should keep them safer too once you’re at the Burrow. And we have at least half a dozen Order members scheduled to watch over the place round the clock once Harry gets there, so you’ll be safe. Bill and Fleur agreed to move in for the rest of summer too since Arthur is putting in extra hours at the Ministry.”

“Yes,” she agreed absently, still beating herself up over not realizing all this sooner. 

“What can I do?”

“Just hold me. Please?” she begged, clutching his arm close when he wove his arms about her slight frame.

And when she’d woken three hours later, a scream dying on her lips as she sat bolt upright, he’d been there to wrap his arms around her again, and murmur soothing words until she’d nodded back off.

Hermione was immeasurably grateful, because this was only the beginning. At least he’d be there to face it all with her. This man who had become her heart.


	2. 2: Then It Is

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

Most of my plot revolving around Remus and the werewolf packs comes from page 334 of _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ in the US hardback version. The way he described himself and life in a pack created a rather vivid picture in my mind of what that was like for him that you see a bit of in _Something_ and in this story.

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~ 

Chapter 2: Then It Is

July 1996

Lupin Cabin

“What have you done?” Hermione gasped, gaping at the man before her.

“You know, I think I’ve dreaded facing you most of all these last two days,” Albus said lightly, a sheepish look coming over his face like that of a misbehaving school child. It was completely at odds with the gravity of the situation they were now in. 

But Hermione barely paid it any heed. Her gaze was riveted on his hand. The withered, blackened appendage sticking out of the sleeve of his lavender and silver robes. Evidence that he’d not listened to her warning. Proof that he was, at this very moment, living on borrowed time. _Because Albus Dumbledore was dying._

“Albus, why? I warned you,” Hermione breathed, shaking her head as though that would dislodge the sight before her. It stubbornly remained the same. There was no changing or altering the events that must have recently occurred. “I told you the ring was cursed! Why would you put it on knowing that?”

He ducked his head, appearing almost bashful as he answered, “I thought I was more clever than I turned out to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hermione demanded sharply, unaccountably disappointed in the wise wizard. 

One she’d looked up to for years, as so many in their world did. As Harry did. He wasn’t supposed to possess human fallacies, as irrational as it was of her to expect so much. No one was without faults, however she might wish it were otherwise.

“That I am only human, and therefore capable of making mistakes. There were curses layered upon curses over the ring. I thought I had dismantled them all. For so long I’ve desired to use this ring. Only once. To gain answers. Forgiveness. And then it was there, just before me. Such temptation as I have never known before,” Albus said, regret laced through every syllable.

“Except you were wrong,” Hermione stated needlessly, the words slipping out of their own accord.

“Indeed, I was,” Albus agreed quietly.

“The stone doesn’t even work. Not really. At least I don’t think it does,” Hermione informed him absently, not sure if she should have kept the knowledge to herself or not. 

Sometimes it was still an adjustment for her, not sharing what she’d learned. It was an ingrained need for her to show off her knowledge. Though Albus always seemed like he already knew everything. 

His curious expression now, however, prompted her to add, “It’s all an illusion projected by your own mind. Though maybe I’m wrong.”

“What makes you say that?” Albus asked, attention keenly focused on her.

“Harry used it. Just once. Before the end. It showed him his parents…Remus...and...and Sirius. But Sirius is alive,” Hermione said slowly, logic supplying answers as she sifted through the facts. “He shouldn’t have seen Sirius if it were real. Assuming, of course, that Sirius doesn’t land himself in trouble again any time soon.” A possibility, though a slim one given the man’s new lease on life and his Unbreakable Vow.

“But Harry believed he was dead, and therefore the ring could be used to commune with him,” Albus said pondering the information, nodding absently as he turned this new knowledge over.

“Yes,” Hermione agreed, wondering what Harry would think of it all when he found out the truth. He’d needed the support of those he’d loved most to see him through his surrender. Perhaps it meant nothing more than that our loved ones are always with us, offering their support when needed most. “It was all in his head. Much like the Mirror of Erised.”

“So I’ve traded my life for a lie,” Albus said self-deprecatingly. “A rather creative bit of magic by the Peverell brothers, wouldn’t you agree?”

They both stared at the unremarkable black stone mounted upon the rough gold ring he wore, each contemplating the magic used to create it. The brothers truly had been extraordinary wizards to have brought such objects into existence as they had. And to have compelled countless witches and wizards through the centuries to seek the enchanted items.

“Did it at least work for you?” Hermione asked, wondering idly if it was inappropriate to ask such a personal question. She knew from Harry, Rita Skeeter’s tell-all book, and Aberforth precisely how much he sought absolution for his youthful mistakes. Had he found even the barest crumb of it?

“Alas, I am touched by death now, and therefore unable to access the magic contained within,” Albus said, a thread of irony making itself visible when he spoke.

“Perhaps it’s better this way,” Hermione mused, trying to offer whatever placation she could. Who knows if the specter his mind conjured would have forgiven him or not.

“The truth is always better than a falsehood,” Albus agreed.

He held up his damaged arm, the curse slowly necrotizing his flesh, killing it gradually, cell by cell. All that remained of his fingers were charred ruins. The agony he must be experiencing was staggering to consider.

“There are more pressing matters that I must focus on. The stone offered a dream that could have distracted me from the true path I must tread, while I have time yet to traverse it.”

“I never had a chance to save you, did I?” Hermione asked sadly, frowning at the elderly man who had guided their society for so many decades, shaping its youth and offering wise counsel to its leaders.

“There are too many that wish me gone,” he said gravely, acknowledging a sad truth. “And I have lived a full life. Focus on the young who still have many years ahead of them if you must try at all.” 

“He’s already made the Unbreakable Vow then?” Hermione realized, silently pleading with him to ask what she meant, to have no knowledge of what she was referring to. Desperately wishing to hear that it was not too late to spare her friend.

“Yes, just last night,” Albus said, seeming surprised to learn she was so well informed. Still? After all this time? Did he not realize that it had been down to her and Harry to piece everything together -- with Severus’s help. And occasionally Ron’s.

“I can’t believe you’re going to do this to him,” Hermione chastised, berating the man with all the pent up fury she’d once heard in Harry’s voice when he’d longed to do the same. “He doesn’t deserve to be forced to kill someone he cares for! You are all he has. Afterwards, you don’t know what it will be like for him -- how much he’ll suffer while everyone believes the worst of him.”

“He may forever love Lily, but you are, no doubt, the superior friend to him. Far more loyal than she was to him,” Albus said, studying her closely. A tender expression crossing his face.

“Don’t change the subject!” Hermione hissed, abruptly angry with the headmaster. Severus didn’t deserve to be used thus.

“There can be no better way for him to cement himself within Voldemort’s circle of trust,” Albus insisted, justifying his reasoning. As if such a thing were even possible. “The school will need him once I am gone.”

Oh, if he only knew what awaited Hogwarts in his absence. Perhaps he’d not be so quick to act. So quick to give up and die. To put it all on Harry.

Neither Ginny nor Neville, or even Luna or Seamus for that matter, would willingly discuss their time under the Carrows’ reign of terror. As far as Hermione knew, Harry was the only one with whom Ginny had ever shared the details of what she’d experienced. And it wasn’t something he had felt comfortable relaying with either her or Ron -- a momentous first for them.

“At what cost?” Hermione demanded, scowling at the man seated across from her. How could he not care what he was doing to the people that trusted him? Didn’t he understand the toll this act would take on Severus? “Do you care so little for the pieces in your eternal game of chess?”

“I care that when we win, we’ll have the most pieces remaining possible,” Albus said blandly, daring her to question him further. It was a rather good comeback. Quite telling too, considering he was willing to sacrifice himself in the process, so long as the outcome was the one he hoped for. 

A true leader -- the one they needed, even if she didn’t always like the reality of what must be done.

“And I will not be around forever. It is time others learn to step up and fill my shoes to protect our world.” Harry and Kingsley had certainly done that. Remus too, before… Well, she couldn’t think of that right then.

“Severus doesn’t deserve this. He’ll be all alone,” Hermione repeated, no longer arguing her point, simply stating a sad and difficult truth. It was easier to think of his suffering than Remus’s.

“Severus will still have you,” Albus reminded her gently, confident that she’d not turn her back on the dark man walking the shadow strewn path. Because she would know the truth when no one else did.

“Yes. His contact within the Order. So the two of us can finish the game once the Queen has been taken,” Hermione nodded, continuing her metaphor.

“Precisely,” he agreed readily, offering a consoling half-smile. The expression contained only sadness. 

How awful for him. To be dying, yet unable to say his farewells. Because no one else could know his end was rapidly approaching.

“You know I was never very good at chess,” Hermione mused without the least bit of humor.

“This is one game I feel assured that you will triumph in,” Albus said confidently, presenting a brave face. It flickered momentarily, turning transparent, and Hermione saw the sadness and longing it masked.

“Severus still hasn’t come to see me,” she stated, though it was more a question. She wondered if he’d confided in the Headmaster. “It’s been weeks.”

“I believe the boy may be avoiding you,” Albus said lightly, his lips tipping up at the corner and a twinkle sparking in his eyes.

“Strangely enough, I’d already deduced as much,” Hermione replied dryly, raising a brow at him.

She was beginning to think it might be necessary for her to hunt him down if they were to speak again anytime soon. And there was much to discuss.

“Give him time,” Albus advised knowingly, but his suddenly grave look spoke volumes. “And please keep in mind that his position has certain requirements that must be met in order to maintain his cover.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked sharply, piercing the man with her amber glare.

“Simply that he needs you to be understanding,” he said, deliberately averting his eyes. He was keeping something important from her. Something she wouldn’t approve of that had to do with Severus. 

“Hmph,” Hermione huffed, knowing he’d not reveal more. If he’d planned to, he would have already. But there was no getting information from Dumbledore unless he wished to share. “There’s even more, isn’t there? Aside from Severus. You didn’t just come here to update me on the state of your health,” Hermione guessed, studying him more closely.

“I’m afraid not. Foremost, I find myself in need of a new professor. I don’t suppose you would be interested in the vacated -- ?”

“Can’t,” Hermione said, grimacing regretfully. “The Marauder’s Map never lies. Harry would see me -- even disguised.”

“How unfortunate… I had hoped… Well, I don’t suppose you have a suggestion for me?” Albus asked beseechingly.

She debated for a moment. It wasn’t like him to want to know the future. He must not be willing to waste the time necessary to find someone.

“Horace Slughorn,” Hermione replied simply.

“Horace?” Albus asked, sounding startled though the wheels began turning immediately. “He’s not been heard from in a year. Potions… then Defense...Severus, hmm, yes. But Horace? You’re certain?”

“He’s who you want -- _need_ ,” Hermione insisted.

“It will take incentives,” Albus mused, pondering the idea more seriously.

“I’ll still be making the hospital wing potions, so that’ll be one less undesirable task required of him. And then there’s Harry. Don’t underestimate the allure of the Chosen One,” Hermione said dryly.

“Yes… collecting Harry would appeal to Horace, but Harry would never allow it. That isn’t his way,” Albus sighed, shaking his head regretfully.

“Harry is your man,” Hermione said carefully, eyeing Dumbledore. The Headmaster blinked, taken aback by her confident words. “He’d do anything you asked of him -- so don’t abuse that trust,” Hermione added meaningfully, pursing her lips.

“I won’t,” Albus vowed solemnly, clearing his throat after the hoarse words had barely managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat.

“You said foremost -- what else did you come for? It sounds as though there’s even more,” Hermione prompted, changing the subject for his sake, though the reminder had him wincing noticeably.

“I need you to pass on a message to Remus for me,” Albus admitted regretfully.

“You want him to join the other werewolf packs,” Hermione said bitterly. “You want to use him again.”

She wanted to argue, knowing how much it messed with Remus’s head, how likely he’d be to have to kill again. It was asking too much for someone as normally gentle and kind as Remus. She could still envision the haunted look on his face as he’d confessed a small measure of his sins to her while describing his time with Greyback’s old pack. 

Not all. Hermione knew he’d not told her everything -- he’d been incapable. Eventually he would, but the deeds had been too much for him to face just yet.

“It is imperative that they not align themselves with Lord Voldemort. The remaining packs are wavering. He alone can persuade them to our side,” Albus insisted, willing to use any means and tools at his disposal to get the job done. That was the reason he was in charge. He could make the difficult, more like impossible, calls.

“Do you have a preference on which he joins first?” Hermione asked dully, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice. Judging by Dumbledore’s raised eyebrows, she failed.

“You know I would not ask this of him if it weren’t necessary,” he replied, addressing her silent condemnation.

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” she murmured quietly, heart hurting for the man she loved.

“Tell him I trust his judgement.” 

It wasn’t much, but the show of faith might help assuage Remus when he learned of his latest task.

“While I have you here, I took the liberty of drawing up a transfer of property ownership. It transfers all of Sirius’s belongings, including his home, house-elf,” Hermione scowled at that, taking a second to collect herself and retrieve the paper from the bookshelf before continuing, “and the contents of his vault to Harry. A sort of will since you had Sirius declared dead and pardoned before discovering I’d saved him. 

“All that is required, is your signature to make it binding and legal. Your reinstatement to the Wizengamot ensures as much.”

“Handy, having one so well versed in law around,” Albus said slowly, browsing through the paper she’d drawn up.

“I can amend your will if you’d like.” After all, she already knew what it said. Then, almost as if she couldn’t help herself, she added, “Considering you will have need of it before too long,” she offered, much more sharply than intended. 

She winced, ready to apologize, but his raised, withered hand waved the unspoken words away.

“A marvelous idea. Simply superb, my dear,” Albus agreed. 

The easy capitulation made her feel like crying. She didn’t want him to accept his upcoming demise so calmly, as though it were inevitable. She wanted him to fight. To rage. To go down kicking and screaming. To set an example for those about him to fight. Fight till the bitter end.

Dumbledore continued reading over the papers she’d drawn up, pretending he didn’t notice her reaction. Hermione shook her head at the way he brushed off her censure.

“Can I borrow your Pensieve again? I want to try and help as many as I can,” Hermione said clearly, the pronouncement recapturing the Headmaster’s undivided attention.

“Did Brockdale Bridge not put things into perspective for you after Amelia’s death?” Albus asked curiously.

“I can’t just give up. At some point, I’m bound to be in the right place and help someone I didn’t know I helped,” Hermione insisted stubbornly. 

It simply wasn’t in her nature to do nothing. That was why she’d brewed Polyjuice and saved Sirius -- twice. Why she’d stood beside Harry year after year. Why she’d lit Severus’s robes on fire and stolen potion ingredients. To name just a few reasons. When it mattered, as it did now, she did what was right -- even when others were too afraid to do similarly.

“I’m worried about the toll the losses will take on you, my dear. You are not so hardened or world-weary that you can compartmentalize all that you will see and the failures you encounter,” Albus said slowly, worry creasing his brow as he studied her.

“I can do what’s necessary.” Her reply was clipped, because she didn’t appreciate being questioned. It wasn’t as though she was a novice at war. She could handle it. She had to.

“Hmm,” he hummed. “Well -”

A ghostly lynx fell through the ceiling. The silver animal seemed to stare directly at Dumbledore as it delivered Kingsley’s grave message in his deep, trademark tones from where it perched on the coffee table. “Many of the Dementors have fled Azkaban. Attacks happening in Banchory and Portree.”

“Why don’t you try assisting Banchory. Portree is nearer to Azkaban, so the Aurors are likely to respond to that attack first,” Albus suggested calmly, peering at her over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

Hermione recognized it as the test it was. If the attack was already happening, there wouldn’t be much she could do. Many would already be gone. He wanted to see how she coped with so many failures back to back.

“You’ll tell Remus yourself then what you need from him?” Hermione challenged, because it dawned on her that he’d wanted her to do it so that he wouldn’t have to witness the wounded betrayal in Remus’s eyes as he asked the unthinkable from the werewolf yet again.

When Albus nodded, Hermione’s last thought before departing was that this seemed a fair compromise.

~

Hermione entered their bedroom to find Remus packing. She watched him from the doorway until he looked up and smiled softly at her. The frost of bitterness had creeped over the edges of him, but it was far less than it had previously been before similar missions or what she’d expected to find today.

“He wants you to go immediately,” she stated simply.

“Yes. He said he told you,” Remus replied, silently requesting confirmation of the fact.

“He did,” she breathed, swallowing thickly. Two weeks together hadn’t been anywhere near long enough. Two decades wouldn’t have been enough. How had she gone so long without him? He was a fixture she relied on now.

“And the Dementor attack?” he asked, frowning as he studied her a bit closer. It was so easy for him to read her. Or perhaps his enhanced senses detected all that was amiss with her.

“I couldn’t cast a Patronus,” she said, feeling the alarm she still felt at the discovery rearrange her face, twisting and contorting her features.

Not two minutes after arriving, Hermione had seen three of the monsters feeding on a couple in an alleyway. Hermione had tried casting her Patronus Charm four times before she feared her legs were going to give out beneath her and blackness had creeped in at the edges of her vision. 

It was exactly the way Harry had always described it. Screams echoing in her ears -- _her screams_. Mad, crackling laughter slicing her numb arm. Disgusting, leering taunts sliding oily across her neck. 

The memories were so heavy. They dragged her beneath the surface of a frozen lake. 

When the Dementors had turned to face her, she’d backed up, blinking rapidly to clear the dancing spots from her vision. Then she’d tried to cast a Patronus for the fifth time. A single translucent wisp of silver had trailed from her wand, vanishing in the breeze before it had even fully emerged from her wand. 

Patronuses were the only means to ward off Dementors. Without one, she was a sitting duck. Useless. There was nothing she could do to help. And if she lost consciousness, as she’d felt starting to happen, then she’d be vulnerable, and they’d easily be able to suck out her soul as easily as they were doing to those local to the area.

To that end, Hermione had left, Disapparating away before she became their next victim.

“I’ve never had a problem doing so before. Remus, you’ve given me a dozen -- more -- happy memories to draw from. I don’t understand,” Hermione said feebly, moving to sit on the bed and pick up one of his robes. 

She lifted the fabric to her nose, inhaling his scent, letting the familiar sandalwood soothe her. Would he be able to visit frequently enough this time that his pillow retained his scent? She wasn’t sure she’d be able to sleep a full night though if it didn’t. 

Hermione freely admitted she needed Remus. There was a hole in her soul that he fit perfectly. Two halves of a whole. Two sides of the same coin.

“Ah, but all of your memories of us are wrapped up in the knowledge of my coming death,” Remus said, sounding positive that he’d identified the problem. “The Dementors’ effects surely enhance the most negative aspects of that knowledge.”

For a second, Hermione wondered if that really was the reason, then her mind snagged on what he’d said, and her head jerked up to stare at Remus.

“Did Sirius tell you about that as well?” she asked thickly, trying not to cry at the thought. 

It would only make things harder if she did. If these were to be the only two years together they had, she didn’t want them tainted with the looming knowledge that it’d soon be over. Hermione guessed that was the burden Muggle’s with cancer faced. That inescapable knowledge that a person was slowly dying, and what they had was temporary. 

Knowledge like that could either make a person resentful, or encourage them to appreciate every precious day together. Remus had already apparently decided on the latter. Hermione had too. For the most part, at least.

“No, actually. I guessed that on my own when you first arrived,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her cheek. She nuzzled into his palm, moving to press it tighter against her. “It’s what gave me the courage to pursue you. I had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. I’m not afraid of dying, Hermione.”

“Well, I’m afraid of losing you. I’m not ready to lose you. I want us to have a future,” she said crossly, poking her tongue out at him to lighten the words. His tender look softened even more. 

“There are more important things at stake here than us,” he rasped. There was so much regret and longing coloring his voice, thick as tar. 

Hermione imagined that it was probably the same for James and Lily when they learned of the targets placed on their backs from the prophecy.

Remus moved to pull her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. She burrowed as deeply as possible, attempting to fuse them into a single solitary being. Neither of them were truly meant for war. But Remus, at least, was hewn and tempered into a sharp, steel blade. An effective weapon at Dumbledore’s disposal.

When they finally parted, Remus returned to packing. She watched him add a patch to a tattered robe, using his wand to direct the needle. All of his robes were worn and threadbare, most with multiple patches, but she noticed he only seemed to be packing the very oldest ones he owned.

“I know you’d probably be stubborn about me buying you new robes, but you can afford to replace some of these yourself,” Hermione ventured tentatively. 

Years of dancing around the subject of money with Ron had taught her how sensitive a subject it was -- particularly with men. Being poor seemed a blow to their egos. A mark of ineptitude or some other such nonsense that dented their pride. But Hermione didn’t particularly wish to start a fight, so she tried to tread carefully as she broached the subject.

“For where I’m going, these are better,” Remus said lightly, not offended in the least. She appreciated his easy-going demeanor. It allowed for much more open conversations between them -- a fact Hermione relished. “I already stand out far too much. Most of my kind have never held a job. Stealing and killing is the only way to get anything, so it’s necessary to make it last as long as possible.”

She knew that, but it was hard to watch him go through it. Especially now, when it was only happening because Dumbledore had requested it. It hardly mattered right then that she knew how important his work was. All she knew was that he had to do something he loathed.

“I’ve killed three times in the last year,” Remus announced suddenly, not glancing up from tying the final knot to secure tha patch. “Only two were pack members.”

“I don’t love you any less,” Hermione said truthfully. 

She’d already assumed that he’d had to. It was the only reasoning that made his behavior in the spring make sense. The real motivation for hating himself once more.

He nodded, not questioning her, but he quietly admitted, “There are times when that becomes hard to remember.”

“When that happens,” Hermione said, hopping off the bed and moving to stand directly in front of him. He tossed the robe over her shoulder and reached for her waist. Hermione smiled, sliding her hands down his chest as she said, “I want you to think of this.”

Then she sank to her knees before him. Immediately, her fingers went about unfastening his pants and freeing his semi-erect cock. Idly, she wondered how long he’d been aroused for. Was it just their proximity to the bed or the coming farewell? With the moon two weeks out yet, she knew it wasn’t that.

Her lips found the hard ridge of his hip bone, and she trailed light kisses along the curved edge. Remus released a long, loud breath and rocked his hips forward, eager for her to reach the neediest part of him. Hermione inhaled his musky, tantalizing aroma and savored the sensation of invoking such a hungry reaction in him.

Lightly, she grazed her fingertips over his length, while exhaling a warm, moist caress. He jerked again at her teasing, and she bit back an amused smile. She wanted his mind filled with happy thoughts and memories of the two of them together. 

“Hermione, please,” he begged throatily.

“Please what?” she asked innocently, deliberately keeping her touch light, almost tickling the velvet ridge.

“Suck me,” he groaned, reaching to thread his fingers through her mane of honey curls as he added, “augh, I want to feel your mouth on me.”

“Like this?” she asked, leaning forward to lightly kiss the tip. A drop of salty precum clung to her lips, and she darted her tongue out to lap it up. Remus’s lust-darkened eyes followed the movement, staring fixedly at her mouth.

“More. Swallow me,” he commanded, inching forward to press his cock against her lush mouth. Hermione swiped her tongue over the tip and he growled, “Stop playing and do it, witch.”

Hermione laughed at his frustration, highly amused by his loss of control, then took him deep, feeling him brush against the back of her throat. She retreated only to take him in fully again.

“Mhh,” she hummed around him, knowing the vibration would drive him mad. 

She wanted this memory branded within him. Every time he closed his eyes, Hermione wanted him to remember her. Both the fun and the passion of their relationship. They could move past anything so long as they remembered the solid core of their relationship.

Her tongue swirled around the crown, tracing along a throbbing vein on the underside. When Hermione looked up, it was to find Remus watching her, feasting himself on the sight of her pleasuring him.

She gripped the base of him harder, sucking him deeper. His eyes rolled back and he began to gently rock into the wet heat of her mouth.

He rarely let her finish him like this. Usually, he’d haul her up and bury himself inside her dripping channel, but today he seemed content to let her do as she pleased, and just then, she really wanted to taste him.

As though sensing her desire, he rasped, “I’m close.”

In no time, he erupted, filling her mouth and she swallowed it all eagerly.

“You make it all worth it,” he declared, helping her up and claiming her mouth in a possessive kiss.

“Come back to me,” she gasped, sucking in great lungfuls of air some time later.

“Always,” he vowed. “No solo missions though. Promise me,” he requested, straightening his clothes and moving to fold the newly repaired robe.

“I won’t,” she agreed immediately.

Fred had already made her promise the same, offering to be her backup whenever Remus was indisposed. She’d questioned him about it, wondering why he was so willing to abandon the store he’d long dreamed of running. Fred had grinned and admitted, “Paperwork blows. If I’m helping you, George handles it. I’d much rather be fighting than counting inventory or placing orders, and Sirius won’t do either, so it’s all on George.”

“One more thing,” Hermione said, looking at the full bag.

“What is it?” he asked, watching her open the nightstand drawer. She’d been saving it to be a surprise for this very occasion.

“It’s spelled. I got the idea from a combination of the Marauder’s Map, Voldemort’s Dark Marks, and the contract I made that the DA members signed. This is your copy. I have its twin. Only we can see what’s written on it, and whatever you write will temporarily appear on mine, and vice versa,” she explained, handing over the enchanted parchment.

“You truly are the cleverest witch of your generation,” Remus said wonderingly.

“Thank you,” Hermione said, flushing at the praise.

At least this time, if they had to be apart, they could communicate regularly.


	3. 3: Working Through Issues

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 3: Working Through Issues

July 1996

Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes

“You do know this is supposed to be your living room, correct?” Hermione asked carefully, glancing around at the havoc that surrounded her.

She’d dropped in to visit Sirius as soon as Remus left, except it had taken a few minutes to locate him as she waded through the mess he’d made of his flat. Open books covered the surface of every table, spelled to keep the pages he’d stopped on displayed while he worked. A number of Weasley products, in various stages of development were suspended throughout the room, hovering like a floating toy store. Hermione had to duck three times as she navigated towards the desk where Sirius was feverishly adding ingredients to a potion, frowning at it as he did.

Stacks and stacks of cloaks and gloves and hats took up the majority of the floor near the sofa and two of the three cushions on it. Hermione didn’t know what to make of the chaos or the man presiding over it.

He’d never been known for possessing any restraint. Always, he’d gone full tilt once he got an idea into his head. She shouldn’t have expected this to be any different, if she were honest with herself.

“Can’t go downstairs, and I really think I’m onto something here,” Sirius said, hardly sparing her a glance.

She was afraid to ask which product he was working on, and how he was managing to keep track of what was happening where. But then he was scribbling on a parchment he’d tacked to the wall and crossing something else off. Hermione wondered what it was, and found herself stepping closer to read it for herself. It was a list of potential potion ingredients, many already crossed out, with possible substitutions inked in for later trials.

He answered her silent question, explaining, “Patented Daydream Potion. Fred is pushing to roll it out next week at the latest to take advantage of the summer sales, but none of us have figured out how to keep the person from actually falling asleep. Here, see what you can make of it.”

Sirius shoved a stack of notes into her hands and went back to brewing his potion. Hermione read through the various scribbles detecting where the twins had left off and Sirius began. They were attempting to combine two potions. One was a heavily modified Dreamless Sleeping Draft, and the other was a potion the St. Mungo’s Healers used to put traumatized patients into a suggestive state that they could then be guided through to help them process events.

Perhaps she should try that herself sometime. Sirius too, for that matter.

“I’d scrap the Sleeping Draught and try an Illusion Charm combined with a Muffling Charm to block outside noises from interfering with the preset illusion,” Hermione suggested.

“But the twins and I have spent months trying to fix this potion,” Sirius grumbled, glaring at the offending potion that blatantly refused to cooperate. 

Even now the wisps of smoke sputtering off it were turning a disgusting shade of brown that reminded her alarmingly of feces. There was no way she’d willingly sample the product. She wondered if they’d come up with the idea while visiting their dad in St. Mungo’s over Christmas. 

“And Patented Daydream _Charm_ don’t have the same ring to it,” Sirius griped.

“Sometimes you have to start over from scratch,” Hermione said, shrugging. “That’s the rub of it when you’re inventing. Besides, I’ve always thought it sounded just fine,” she added meaningfully.

Sirius ran a hand through his shaggy hair, making it stick up wildly. He looked like a mad scientist as he extinguished the flame sputtering beneath his cauldron and resentfully vanished the contents a bit roughly.

With a frown at the overflowing and stuffed sofa, Sirius sent the pile of cloaks floating towards his kitchen and took a seat, nodding to the vacant spot beside him. 

“What are all those for?” she asked, wondering if he’d suddenly decided to become a hoarder. It wouldn’t surprise her if he finally did suffer a mental break one day.

“Ministry ordered shield products for the staff,” he said, rolling his eyes. “They’re so bloody incompetent that they can’t do their own. They’re boring to do, but easy. I’m working my way through the order when I get stuck or when I’m waiting for the twins to give me a new challenge that’s stumping them.”

“How’s it been, living here, I mean?” Hermione asked, studying him closely. She and Remus had stopped in regularly to check on Sirius over the last two weeks, but they’d not stayed long on any of the occasions, desiring to spend as much alone time as they could together.

Grimmauld Place had been dark and gloomy. Harry had ended up replacing all the windows before any natural light was able to find its way in. Here, in Sirius’s new flat, every window was uncovered, flooding the space with brilliant late afternoon rays of summer sunlight. Hermione suspected he spent a few hours a day sitting in the warm light like a cat, because his face had lost some of its sallowness and had taken on a faint touch of gold instead. 

It was the first time she’d seen him and not thought his looks ravaged beyond repair. In fact, he actually resembled the man from the photograph Harry kept of his parents’ wedding. Clean hair, tattoos covered, sober, rested eyes. Another few years, and he might actually recover some of what had been stolen from him.

Guess it was a good thing she’d added Privacy Charms to all the windows to keep the neighbors from accidentally seeing in.

“Better than that rat-infested, cursed mausoleum,” Sirius said quickly, and his upper lip curled back at the mention of his ancestral home. He tipped his head suddenly, and asked, “What’s wrong with you? You look a bit peaky.”

“Remus just left to join one of the remaining packs,” Hermione admitted, already worried about him. 

At least this time they could communicate regularly with the charmed parchment she’d made. That was bound to help. Frequent reminders that he was loved and had a solid support system of friends would help stave off the worst of his self-doubt and insecurities.

“But you guys talked and worked through all that nonsense from before,” Sirius prodded, eyeing her speculatively.

“It wasn’t entirely nonsense, but yes, we did,” Hermione said, clenching her teeth at how easy he found it to brush off Remus’s ongoing negative opinion of himself. 

Though perhaps the fact he found the idea so ludicrous was part of what helped Remus back in school. Proof that his friends didn’t see him differently just because of his condition.

“Then why do you resemble a sickly ghost today?” he continued. 

She probably should have raided Remus’s stash of chocolate before heading over. Their interlude, while exhilarating at the time, had only further worn her out. 

It had usually taken Harry a solid meal and a good night’s sleep before he stopped looking ready to faint after an encounter with a Dementor. Even now, the echoes of her screams as Bellatrix and Greyback hurt her ricocheted jarringly in her ears and her stomach turned. Phantom lines of fire singed her arm, a sharp brand on an area long numb. And taloned fingered ghost hands gripped areas they had no business being.

Alarm flickered over Sirius’s face, and his eyes dropped to her stomach. “You’re not --”

“No!” Hermione gasped, understanding his mistaken assumption immediately.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she snapped, pursing her lips. She was not pregnant. She took the Contraceptive Potion religiously, knowing Remus’s feelings as well as she did when it came to having kids. 

“Then why do -- ?”

“Because before he left, I faced off with a number of Dementors,” Hermione said primly, expecting the news to deter him from commenting further. The golden shade of his skin that she’d noted earlier faded, washed-out in an instant, and his teeth snapped audibly together. His reaction to the creatures being referenced in casual conversation was enough to have her confessing, “Apparently, I am no longer capable of producing a Patronus to ward them off.”

“Welcome to the club -- neither can I,” Sirius said bitterly, a wry smile gracing his lips. It was flat. A mockery of the happiness she’d gotten used to seeing from him during her visits in the last week.

“They really are foul beasts, aren’t they?” Hermione mused, wondering how they ever came into being in the first place.

There were no concrete records, only speculation. The most likely origin theory was that they were birthed at Azkaban by the original occupant, Ekrizdis, since that was where they were first discovered back in the fifteenth century. He was known to practice the most horrific and twisted Dark Arts, and often murdered the Muggle sailors that he lured to the island fortress.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” Sirius said darkly. Demons stared out of the frozen depths of his eyes, screaming in eternal torment. Blades of ice in a tundra wasteland ran him through over and over again. 

The strength of will it must have taken for him to retain his sanity after years under the Dementors’ influence astounded Hermione. For years, he had been stripped of all hope and happiness. Empty. Bare but for the knowledge that he’d failed the person he cared most for in all the world -- James.

“How are you holding up aside from that?” she gestured towards the emptied cauldron, eager to take his mind off the agonies he’d endured.

It didn’t work. He was caught in the net of the past, being dragged beneath the crashing, churning waves surrounded Azkaban Prison in the frigid North Sea, she could tell. He floundered, reaching for a life preserver. 

“Sirius?” she asked quietly, not knowing what he needed, but wanting to help the man anyways. 

She felt responsible for him now. Had ever since she saved his life. Responsible in a way she’d not anticipated. His life was in her hands. Hers to assist and shape into the best possible one it could be.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he breathed, staring beseechingly at her.

“Why not try the beginning? I’ve got time to listen,” Hermione offered, opening the floor to him.

Sirius nodded, but didn’t speak at first. Eventually, he sighed, acknowledging, “I didn’t have a happy childhood, you know that. It was miserable.”

Hermione waited. He looked to her, seeking something. A reaction? A benediction? A way to make sense or meaning of it? 

There was not any. There were no justifications in the world to abuse a child the way Sirius and Harry had been. The way many children were all around the world. In particular, she’d come to learn, the children of Death Eaters. Without Voldemort to guide them and provide an outlet for their cruelty, many of his original followers that escaped Azkaban the first time turned that viciousness inwards on their own families. 

It was even the same with many of the Pureblood families that hadn’t supported Voldemort. Centuries of inbreeding warped their minds enough that they didn’t see the damage they were inflicting, such as what happened in Sirius’s home. Ignorance did not excuse it. Merely explained why it seemed so prevalent in the wizarding world.

All she could think of was to murmur, “So was Harry’s.” A reminder that he wasn’t alone, and someone he cared for could relate. She knew how much he liked finding similarities between the two of them.

Sirius’s head fell back against the couch, and when he spoke again, it was to the ceiling. “Then I got to Hogwarts and met James and Remus. We were wild. Daring. The only time I felt alive and free was when we were taking risks. Stupid, reckless, foolish risks. But they made me feel,” Sirius said hollowly, all of his emotion saved for the final word. “Loosed the ever-present shackles.”

An image of Harry on a broomstick as a first year filled her head. He’d been fearless. Was it really that he was just waking up after his time with the Dursleys? All those times he’d been so willing to be the one risking his life to help others. Was it easier for Harry because he’d not believed his life had meaning? She could believe it. And by the time he felt otherwise, those habits had become ingrained in him. Part of his nature. 

“After Hogwarts, I don’t know if you know this or not, but James and I worked for the Order full time. Like Remus does now, or maybe more like what you’ve been doing this last week or two. Always on call, like first-responders. I craved the adrenaline rush. That high when fighting -- there was nothing like it. It was addictive. 

“James’s restraint, his desire to return to Lily every night, was the only thing that kept me alive back then. Merlin, we were chomping at the bit to fight. So bloody eager. Barely possessed an ounce of self-preservation between us. Without her, we’d have had none.”

“I know what you mean,” Hermione said wryly, thinking again of Harry.

“Yes, hearing our boy talk about wanting to fight was a rude wake-up call. The terror I felt hearing Harry talk of wanting to join the Order. Made me a might glad I never had anyone that gave a damn whether I lived or died,” Sirius said with a shake of his head.

Somehow Hermione doubted he really meant the last. Probably, he was hurt he’d had no one to look out for him as Molly and he had for Harry. Even if it meant not getting to fight in the Order as he evidently had.

And wasn’t it always that way? The young were always so eager to fight. So idealistic and earnest. Unfamiliar with the harsh realities of war. Desperate to prove their bravery and willingness to sacrifice. They had less to lose and more to gain. Or so it seemed.

“Then I lost everything. I was trapped in Azkaban,” he continued raspily, the torment he suffered wrapping every word with barbed wire. They slashed at her as she absorbed them, the pointed tips unavoidable. “Sometimes I wake up still believing that I’m trapped in one of those dank cells. Having to --” he broke off, burying his face in his hands. Shutters whispered through him, a ghostly breezy ruffling a gauzy curtain.

Harry had thrown his considerable weight around after the war to help Kingsley gain support in banishing the Dementors from Azkaban. It helped that they’d abandoned their post and sided with Voldemort, so he hadn’t needed to do much, but he never wanted anyone -- not even the surviving Death Eaters to continuously suffer at their hands as Sirius had. Kingsley too had based his decision in part because of his personal bias after witnessing the lasting effects Sirius endured. The rest had been equal parts how inhumane they were and how untrustworthy.

“Sirius, you don’t have to talk about it if you’re not ready,” Hermione said shakily. She was affected by his story, and she hadn’t even had to survive it.

“I don’t remember all of it. Entire years of my life are just...gone. Entirely blank -- not that I was doing anything worthwhile -- but they’re still gone. I don’t know if that’s better or worse,” he said after a long silence. He turned his head to look at her, a question on his face.

“I don’t know either,” she admitted, horrified by the existence he’d been forced to experience for years. 

He’d done nothing to deserve such a fate. Sirius Black was no saint, but even his worst crime wouldn’t make him deserving of twelve minutes at the Dementor’s merciless whims, let alone twelve years.

Hermione sensed he wanted to confess something else, but he either couldn’t find the words, or he couldn’t get them out. Couldn’t face the full scope of horrors in his past. But that was all right. She’d be there to listen when he was ready, or Remus would. The point was that he’d not be alone, and that today he’d already faced more than she’d expected. He was healing. At long last, Sirius was learning to live again and letting his internal scars scab over.

His next words confirmed her personal conclusions.

“James had a life. This last year, I saw Remus finally let down his barriers and start living too. He’d always been too afraid before, then we were gone and there was no one to push him to try. I was just starting to want the same. I was so close -- _so bloody close_ \-- to being ready. Then this happened,” he said with a mixture of frustration and longing.

Hermione knew he would have continued to be restless and aimless even if not shut up. For the last three years, his only focus was Harry. He needed more. Something for himself.

“You can still have a life, Sirius. You’re not a prisoner here. Not like you were in Azkaban or even Grimmauld Place,” Hermione stated.

Sirius glanced out the rapidly darkening window, and said, “I still can’t walk down Diagon Alley, can I?” 

“You can’t move around freely in the British magical community, so what? There’s a whole world out there that you can still be a part of if you really want to,” Hermione insisted. “Besides, aren’t you the one fascinated with Muggles? Why not try living like one for a spell?” 

She’d given it a great deal of thought. Most wizarding families remained in Britain, or occasionally traveled on the continent. There were other places he could go and not be recognized. And even if he was, everyone thought he was dead, so they’d likely chalk it up as seeing a look-alike.

Privately, she hoped he’d take her up on her Muggle suggestion. Sirius had told her how much he used to talk about running off and trying to pretend to be one for a while as a lark while at Hogwarts, and even more after he graduated and was fighting. He’d lived in a Muggle flat, dressed like a Muggle, and even had that motorbike. ‘Course he charmed it to fly, but that was because he was Sirius and loved to push boundaries.

He could actually try it now. And not like he had while on the run from the Ministry and when he was hiding. This time he could do it up all proper-like, and see if it met his expectations. Maybe even fall in love himself.

Hermione didn’t count his past with Marlene McKinnon that Molly had told her about. Sirius had never once mentioned the witch, and neither had Remus. That in itself told Hermione that what the two shared hadn’t been serious.

“I’m scared,” he said simply. 

It was understandable. He’d not had the freedom to make such decisions for fifteen years. Nearly half his life.

“We all are,” Hermione promised.

Silence descended as they each contemplated the current circumstances, and how they were letting the war dictate their lives.

“I never took you for a procrastinator,” Sirius finally mused, traveling down a path she couldn’t see to navigate.

“Pardon? I’ve never --”

“You just admitted you’re scared, and I know this is one reason for it,” he remarked flatly.

“What are you on about?” she demanded stiffly, bristling under his accusation.

“Tonks is still in the dark about Teddy,” he announced, pinning her with a disappointed frown. “She visits fairly often given her relationship with my neighbor.”

“There hasn’t exactly been a good time during the last two weeks to tell her that she’s going to have my boyfriend’s child,” Hermione said defensively. They’d been rather busy fighting giants, Dementors, and Death Eaters more often than not.

“Touche,” he allowed, but he continued watching her. Expectantly waiting to hear what her plan was.

“I’m going to tell her,” Hermione insisted, pursing her lips.

“When?”

“When the opportunity presents itself,” she snapped tartly.

“Hmph,” he snorted, still watching her. “While I’m a little relieved you won’t both be pregnant with Remus’s children within the same year, because he’d have conniptions to be sure, I can tell something’s changed. I just can’t put my finger on what it is.”

Hermione was not really sure herself, but she couldn’t refute his assessment. At least not honestly.

Naked alarm flashed briefly over his face as he gasped. “You’ve resigned yourself to Remus’s decision.”

Was that what she’d done? The truth was a slap in the face. Hot and stinging.

“Hermione, you have to convince him. This isn’t --”

“Either of our decisions to make? Yes, I quite agree,” she interrupted, putting her foot down firmly to stop him continuing.

It didn’t work.

Sirius sat forward, tense and alert as a dog on a hunt. “You were the one that wasn’t even going to get involved with him because of Teddy,” he reminded her, concerned wrinkles creasing the corners of his eyes, “to make sure he was born as you remembered.” 

“But then I did. And this is what he wants,” she said quietly. 

She didn’t understand all of his reasoning, or even most of it, but she remembered how he’d behaved when he first told the trio of Tonks’s pregnancy. For him, a child wasn’t the joyous celebration that it should have been.

“I can’t believe you,” Sirius growled, shaking his head at her.

“I can always go if you’re going to insist on being like this,” Hermione threatened, trying to change the subject.

He snorted in response, allowing it as he correctly stated, “You’re no more eager to return to an empty house than I am to be alone.”

“You have visitors --”

“‘Bout the same as I had at Grimmauld, except now the only people that know about me, are the people that know about you,” he said darkly, though it held far less negativity than a statement like that from him used to hold.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like this for you,” she said gently.

“At least I’m alive,” he sighed, giving her a half smile.

“Have you considered traveling abroad to obtain product supplies?” she suggested, still hoping he’d listen and get out for a bit. She worried how prone to recklessness he was when confined.

She waited as he considered it seriously.

“Hmm. Not a bad suggestion. I might talk it over with the twins. Once the war is over, maybe I’ll do that, but I want to stick close for now,” he decided. “If something happens -- to anyone -- I want to at least hear about it right away, and spend what time I can with the people beforehand.” 

She couldn’t argue with him there. He’d have another twelve years after the war to be able to travel.

“Need help with the Shield Charms?” she offered, not ready to return to the empty cabin yet, just as he’d known.

~

Lupin Cabin

There was a message from Remus waiting for her when she got home that night. Eagerly, she snatched up the paper to read it. 

_“Have I told you yet that you’re the most clever witch to ever exist?”_

Hermione laughed when she read his words, appreciating the teasing note to them.

_“You have, but it never hurts to hear it again,”_ she replied, wondering if he was already asleep and she’d have to --

His reply appeared before she’d even finished the thought, praising, _“You’re brilliant and perfect.”_

_“Let’s not go overboard with the compliments. I’m likely to get a big head,”_ she warned, though she couldn’t stop the warmth from infusing her cheeks upon reading his words.

The first words he’d written finally vanished. They were timed to disappear five minutes after the recipient read them, so the space would be clear for a new message to be written on or read from.

_“More of you for me to love,”_ he wrote, and she could easily picture his tender smile.

_“You’re in a good mood. Things must be going well.”_

She’d assumed all of their interactions to include a slightly moody, sullen Remus now that he’d gone back underground. The pack lifestyle was so contrary to what he preferred. Dark and violent and primitive. None of the characteristics she typically associated with her lover.

After a lengthy pause, he vaguely replied, _“As well as can be expected.”_

_“And what does that mean?”_

_“They heard what I did in the last pack.”_

There was a pause, and Hermione debated between demanding a clearer answer and waiting to see if he’d give her one on his own. Then, there was always the possibility that he was busy and couldn’t actually elaborate at present. The latter thought decided things for her. She’d give him a change to explain on his own -- if he wanted to, and if he could.

It was close to five minutes before he added, _“It’s helped, even though I’m new.”_

_“You’ve never said…not really,”_ she prompted, hoping he’d willingly confide in her.

_“We weren’t seeing eye-to-eye, couldn’t come to an agreement on whether or not they intended to join Greyback in fighting for Voldemort, so I offered a bit of encouragement to help them come to the correct decision,”_ he wrote, leaving more out than she felt comfortable with.

_“Remus, what did you do?”_

Was this when he’d killed? He’d said he killed two werewolves, but he’d not described the circumstances.

_“It was the day Snape told me you were out on your own with no backup. Right after I heard, I threatened to hunt down and kill anyone who aligned themselves with Voldemort. Two challenged me, calling my bluff...and I won,”_ he confessed. 

She was correct then. Two of the three kills he’d told her about. She’d not pushed for more information sooner, and now even more of their issues in recent weeks made sense. That wouldn’t have happened if he’d not been with the packs, and if he wasn’t a werewolf, he wouldn’t have been. 

His drastic actions had reinforced his opinion of himself. Plus, concern for her had pushed him to rush things with the pack and make such an ultimatum -- one he’d probably been hoping to avoid. But hearing she was in danger, he’d thought he was out of time. 

_“And word of it has traveled?”_

She knew from the way he routinely skirted the topic, that he wouldn’t appreciate having her question him about the incident further.

_“Yes. The remaining four certainly believed my threat to come after them at any rate. They have since joined one of the two remaining packs I will need to liaise with next,”_ he wrote, looping her in on his work for the Order.

_“I don’t blame you,”_ she wrote, knowing he had to be wondering at her reactions since he couldn’t see it for himself. _“Your efforts have paid off, because none have sided with Voldemort so far. Aside from Greyback.”_

_“I suppose.”_

Hermione rolled her eyes. He wouldn’t be content until the war was over. In the meantime, nothing was ever enough. Not so long as horrors continued taking place. She understood. It was the same for her most of the time. She just wished there was a diplomatic approach possible. A way to discuss issues and come to a peaceful resolution. 

_“We’re all doing our parts. The wolves are yours. You’re making a difference. They’ve seen you fight now. They are aware of your skills,”_ she tried. The packs now knew that he was a formidable opponent -- as a wizard, man, and wolf. That carried significant weight among their culture.

Remus had once described being part of a pack as a combination of frat party and fight club. Both of which put Remus out of his element, yet he still somehow managed to shine. Hermione suspected it was because he was a combination of sympathetic friend and dominant leader. 

The latter was rather remarkable, and not a quality that had appeared until later in life for him. In school, Remus had followed James and Sirius, letting them take the uncontested lead. He’d never challenged them because he feared losing them. Now, however, he was usually the first to put Sirius in his place, and to take command when Albus was unavailable. 

_“I’ll just be grateful for the day when I never have to fight again. But enough about me. How did you spend your evening?”_

_“I visited Sirius.”_

_“How is he?”_

Such concern. They’d visited Sirius nearly everyday over the last week, with the exception being when they’d fought Death Eaters at the bridge.

_“Hanging in there. We talked quite a bit. Has he ever discussed his time in Azkaban with you?”_

From the way the conversation had gone earlier, Hermione doubted it.

_“We’ve talked about Hogwarts, both of us missing out on Harry’s childhood, and recent developments regarding the war and you, but no, never his time in Azkaban. Did he tell you anything?”_

_“Yes, a bit,”_ Hermione confessed. 

She wondered if she should continue encouraging him to open up, or if dwelling on it would actually be counterproductive. She’d have to get her hands on a book and see what an expert had to say. All she had to go on was her own experience. She’d bottled it all up, refused to speak of it, and now it seemed to make her fall apart at inopportune times, or worse, for no discernible reason at all.

_“I’m so grateful he confided in you, and that you can be there for him.”_

_“You are? Sure this isn’t going to turn into you thinking I fancy him?”_

Hermione smiled as she wrote the question, assuming he’d know she was teasing. But the longer she waited for a response, the more her smile faded. 

Nothing came from Remus for a long time. She began to worry that she was either correct or that she’d managed to offend him.

_“No. I know you both too well. I do hope you remain close in the coming years, however.”_

Hermione frowned at the strange phrasing he’d chosen. It nagged at her, but she couldn’t place her finger on precisely why it did.

Her reply was equally slow to come, yet entirely honest. _“I’m sure we will. For your and Harry’s sake if not our own, though I have come to consider him one of my closest friends this last year.”_

_“We should host a dinner when I check in,”_ he wrote, abruptly changing the subject. 

_“Host a dinner? Like a party?”_ she asked, laughing at the idea. It’d be a chance at normalcy. A welcome break from the war.

_“Lily and James used to have everyone over all the time, and it was wonderful. I’d like us to continue the tradition -- if you’re willing,”_ he wrote, sharing a bit of his life before she became a part of it with her. 

It wasn’t often he spoke of that particular time. Too painful probably to consider the months leading up to the end of the First Wizarding War. The constant shroud of distrust, weariness, and fear. It must have been taxing in the extreme.

But she was in favor of getting together and spending time that wasn’t dedicated to planning missions for the Order or going over their latest failures. They could probably all do with some normalcy. Something fun to look forward to.

_“Things have been tough lately.”_ Hermione was immediately reminded of her failure at the bridge and her run in with the Dementors. _“Let’s celebrate the success of you saving Sirius. Dora and Kingsley too, from what I’ve heard -- though I notice you didn’t tell me about either.”_

Hermione stared at the words until long after they’d vanished. 

Actually, that wasn’t precisely true. She stared at one word. A name. Dora. It was the name Remus used to call Tonks. 

This was the first time she’d heard, or rather seen, him do it since she arrived in the past. When had that begun? What did it mean?

Swallowing, Hermione forced herself to reply. _“That’s a brilliant idea. Let’s wait until next month though or this fall, so I have some time to plan it properly. Especially if we’re going to make it a regular occurrence.”_

_“Is it wrong that I miss you already?”_

_“No. Not unless it’s wrong that I already miss you.”_

_“I love you, Hermione.”_

The reminder was a balm after the unintentional reference he’d made. She was selfish when it came to Remus. Now that it had been determined that he was hers, and hers alone, she didn’t wish to share him at all. Not when time was so precious.

Guess he wasn’t the only one with a jealous side.

_“Come back to me soon.”_

_“Always.”_


	4. 4: The Truth in Memory

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 4: The Truth in Memory

July 1996

_“I know what you mean,”_ Hermione wrote, agreeing with Remus that the giant and Dementor attacks all seemed to be centered in the West Country this last week. 

Remus had just gotten through telling her about all that he’d heard of happening in the last week through his underground contacts. Events not even reported in the Prophet yet. Hermione wasn’t sure what it meant exactly, only that it probably didn’t bode well for them. The only positive, potentially at least, was that she couldn’t remember the attacks leading up to anything specific. If only she knew her memory wasn’t faulty. Then maybe she’d actually be able to relax a little. 

_“Fred and I spent last night tracking the giants. They’re on the move again,”_ she added, writing quickly.

_“Was there any trouble?”_ Echoes of his concern floated to her on the wind. The gentle comfort made her smile despite the topic of conversation.

_“No, and I’m ashamed to admit, but I’m slightly relieved. We only found six of them,”_ she informed him. She didn’t understand why the Ministry believed there was only one here. Surely their heads weren’t buried that deeply in the sand. Then again...

_“There were eight initially. Two have already died? Or have they been sent elsewhere?”_

_“I believe they’re dead. Based on the appearance of those we saw last night, it was due to fighting amongst themselves,”_ she wrote. All of the remaining giants had been pretty banged up. Even Fred had winced at the sight of a particularly nasty cut on one of their cheeks. It had nearly taken out the giant’s massive, black eye in the process.

_“Will the losses encourage any to return home?”_

_“No,”_ Hermione wrote, regretfully. If only it were that simple.

_“Then I suppose I shall just have to content myself with the knowledge that there are fewer of them wrecking devastation,”_ he replied optimistically. He’d been so much more hopeful since she saved Sirius and they’d talked things out.

_“Small mercies. Should make for moving Harry easier,”_ Hermione wrote, amending, _“safer at least.”_ Though considering Dumbledore was escorting him personally, she doubted it would hardly matter. Even injured as he was, Dumbledore was a formidable opponent. 

_“Albus is escorting him to the Burrow this coming weekend?”_ Remus inquired.

_“Last I heard, yes,”_ she replied.

_“That reminds me, I won’t be able to visit anymore tomorrow.”_

_“What’s changed?”_ Hermione asked, her heart beating faster as she feared something had happened to him.

_“The twins nominated me to escort you to the Burrow.”_ She could detect the unamused, anxious undercurrent to the written words.

_“Wh-- oh! Yes, that’s right, you did,”_ Hermione wrote, cutting into her reply as the memory came to her. Laughter spilled forth as she recalled the awkward journey.

_“No trouble?”_

She could just imagine his concern for her safety, wanting to make sure nothing happened to her for her sake, as well as to ensure she survived long enough to travel back in time to him. _“Apart from you ignoring all of my engaging discussions?”_

As she wrote the words, a memory surfaced. Because there had been a small spot of trouble, just not the Death Eater kind. 

Tonks had been waiting for Remus at the Burrow, and the two had exchanged heated words outside. Hermione hadn’t been able to hear what they’d said, but she and Gin had watched them arguing from the window of her room. They’d spent all afternoon speculating about what they’d fought about.

The unusually mopey Auror had returned a couple days later, the day Harry arrived actually, and spent several hours talking to Molly. Hermione and Ginny had tried using Extendable Ears to eavesdrop, wanting to learn about the fight and why Tonks looked drained of some essential spark, but the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes product had been detected long before the girls managed to hear any explanations.

_“I love you, Hermione.”_ The reminder made her smile. Just an easy way for him to get off the hook.

_“Charmer,”_ she accused, intending to taunt him a little for his silly discomfort.

“Wotcher!” Tonks called, letting herself in through the front door. As if Hermione’s very thoughts had summoned the young witch.

Hermione’s head jerked up from her seat on the sofa as she stared at the newcomer incredulously. Tonks grinned, nonplussed, and morphed her hair from shocking pink to Weasley red to verify that she was in fact the metamorphmagus and not a Death Eater come to kill her.

“How’d you get past my wards?” Hermione demanded, feeling her jaw drop. Those were the same wards she’d used to hide herself, Ron and Harry when they’d been on the run. They should have kept everyone out.

“I’m an Auror,” Tonks said simply, dropping onto the couch beside her. 

The forest green robes she wore fluttered out more like a dress than the serviceable and fitted Auror robes meant to allow easy maneuvering for fighting, and Hermione was vaguely reminded of Christmas given the red and green coloring the young witch sported. Hermione pulled her feet back, curling them beneath her. 

“Though that last spell took an extra few seconds to work out,” Tonks offered consolingly.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” Hermione asked wryly, feeling the corner of her lips tug up. Tonks’s good spirits were catching, and she was just so bloody likable.

“I don’t want my skills to get rusty. This was good practice,” Tonks insisted. “Your wards are more thorough than most.”

Tonks had dropped in a few times in the last two weeks. She seemed to feel indebted since Hermione had saved her twice at the Ministry, once by warning her the Death Eaters were coming, then again by breaking her fall. 

She also seemed to think Hermione could do with a friend now that Remus was away again. She wasn’t wrong. Hermione missed Remus so much that a constant physical ache had developed in her chest. Spending time with Sirius was all right, especially now that he wasn’t always sloshed, but with Severus still avoiding her -- for whatever inexplicable reason -- she was rather adrift. It had taken this for her to finally put her finger on why he’d been sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor -- regardless of everything else he did, he wasn’t brave in his personal relationships. 

Forming a friendship with Tonks was strange. She genuinely liked the rambunctious, daring woman. In all her life, Hermione had only really made friends with three other females -- Ginny, Luna, and Val. All of which she suspected were more out of circumstance than any genuine liking for her. Ginny had been forced to share her bedroom at the Burrow for years while she visited Ron. Luna was friends with Harry and Ginny, so they spent quite a bit of time together. And Val was at all the family functions since getting involved with Ron, so they too spent a lot of time together.

It had always been easier for Hermione to get on with males. They didn’t see her as a threat. And her brain usually kept most of them from even noticing she was a girl. As Ron so aptly demonstrated during their fourth year. Without the involvement of hormones, it was easy to joke and have fun.

With Tonks, though, it was different. The other witch was highly intelligent, and could actually carry on a meaningful conversation that didn’t revolve entirely around Quidditch or made up, pardon, _yet to be discovered_ , creatures. Tonks actually reminded her a lot of Harry after the war, when he’d finally been able to relax and have a bit of fun without worry. Tonks was also very secure in herself, and as such, didn’t feel the need to be jealous of Hermione.

“Right,” Hermione muttered, huffing.

“Want me to get that?” she offered, pointing at the window where three owls were perched, a large parcel resting in the flower box between them. 

Hermione hadn’t even noticed when they’d arrived. She’d been so caught up talking to Remus. Probably how Tonks had gotten in undetected as well.

_“Tonks just got here,”_ she wrote quickly while Tonks untied the package.

_“Enjoy your evening. I’ll write again tomorrow if I can.”_

After she read his response, Hermione carefully folded the parment and tucked it into the little drawer on the end table. Her lap was immediately filled with the heavy, brown paper wrapped object that Tonks had just retrieved for her.

“Go on then,” she urged. “Let’s see what it is.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione opened the letter attached to the top.

_Hermione,_

_To aid you in your next endeavors._

_Albus_

The thin, slanted writing stared up at her from the short note. Once she’d read it, she handed it off to Tonks, knowing the other witch was likely getting impatient. Hermione met Tonks’s inquiring eyes and shrugged before carefully looking for a flap to unwrap the parcel the headmaster had sent her.

“Oi! Stop dragging out the suspense, and open it already!” Tonks ordered, making Hermione laugh as she unceremoniously tore the paper.

The object was immediately familiar to her. In an instant, ideas were filling her head. Memories coming to the front, pushing and shoving to reach the front of the line like Muggle shoppers on Black Friday in the US, all practically begging her to review them as soon as possible.

“It’s new,” Hermione gasped, noting, with no small amount of surprise, that it was not the same one she had previously borrowed. This one was new, or at least new to her. 

Had he gotten her one of her own to help her try to change things? Even though he didn’t think she’d meet with much success.

Was he offering silent support, or hoping to guide her into both acknowledging and accepting the inevitability of some things? They were in this together, in a way, given the burden of the secret knowledge they both shouldered.

“Why would you need that?” Tonks asked, reaching to touch the edge of the heavy, stone basin. 

Ancient runes lined the edge of the Pensieve, roughly scratched into the smoothed rock. Hermione recognized a few from school: ponder, memory, sight, clarity, preserve. But still others were foreign to her. Either she’d never learned them in the first place, or years of not considering them now caused their meaning to elude her.

“Would you believe that my being here has altered things?” Hermione asked slowly, wondering at the timing of the Pensieve’s arrival. Was now the best time to tell Tonks about Teddy?

“My living, breathing cousin is proof of that,” she said, smirking cockily. Smug over how they’d gotten one over on the Death Eaters, and saved someone they all cared about in the process.

“Not all of the changes are as welcome. And one...one directly impacts you,” Hermione admitted, steeling herself.

“Me? How?” she asked wonderingly. Then quipped, “Other than saving me, of course.”

“You had a son,” Hermione breathed, tossing the proclamation into the silent room. Shakily, she unnecessarily clarified, “Before.”

Tonks was quiet for so long that Hermione feared Tonks hadn’t heard her, and that she’d be forced to announce it again. The first time had been difficult enough. 

“A son?” Tonks finally asked. Her entire countenance had changed, silently begging for more information, to know everything. Excitement and anticipation warred with eagerness.

“Teddy.” The name fell from her mouth like a lead weight.

“After my dad,” Tonks stated, patently curious. “I’ve always wanted kids. A bunch of them. If I’d not made it through Auror training, which was a distinct possibility given I failed the stealth portion twice, my plan was to open a daycare for wizarding children.”

Hermione’s stomach turned at the thought of all the accidental magic and diapers and sticky fingers and shouting. That could never be her. Not in a million years. She loved Harry’s kids and the other Weasleys’ kids, but she’d never felt the urge to have her own. Borrowing for brief periods of time was more than sufficient.

“So I’ll have at least one. That’s really -- that’s amazing,” Tonks grinned. Her obvious happiness at this news was a knife to the heart. Had Tonks already forgotten what Hermione had told her? 

Hermione being here had changed things, inadvertently robbing Tonks of this opportunity that she’d apparently longed for most of her life. Guilt caught her in a stranglehold, and it took clearing her throat three times before she thought she might manage to say anything at all.

“Would you like to see him?” Hermione offered, not knowing what else to do, and not ready to break the news to her.

“Yes!” Tonks cried, bouncing excitedly. Hermione forced a weak smile for the thrilled witch as she pondered what to show her.

In the end, she selected her memory of first meeting Teddy. There wasn’t much mentioned or referenced that would give anything important away, not unless you already knew the circumstances.

Placing her wand at her temple in a move that came with relative ease after months of practice, Hermione pulled the memory from her head. It clung, seemed reluctant to part from her, but she tugged, freeing it with a little flourish. She watched as the silvery vapor settled in the Pensieve, swirling like a drop of food coloring deposited in water.

Tonks lunged forward, plunging her face into it eagerly as though afraid Hermione would change her mind and take it back if she didn’t move quickly enough to stop her. Sighing, Hermione followed after Tonks, pressing her face against the transparent surface, looking through the window into the past. Then Hermione was falling, landing in the Hogwarts’ Atrium.

The disaster surrounding them was every bit as bad as she remembered. Black scorch marks littered the walls and floors, as did dried bloodstains. A few rubies and sapphires could be seen glittering dully on the floor where the school hourglasses recording points had been broken, spilling their contents across the foyer. 

Hermione didn’t dare glance into the Great Hall, though she need only turn her head and she’d be able to see in. She’d wait a bit to revisit the events that had taken place in that room. Luckily she had a few months before she’d need to.

She’d not even managed to bring herself to go in to sit her exams, choosing instead to take them in one of the empty classrooms, a courtesy the Ministry had extended to any that fought during the Battle of Hogwarts, recognizing how distracting it might be for some if they had to take them in the room they’d fought and lost loved ones in. The room where they’d laid the dead, one after another, lined up in long, neat rows where the house tables normally stood.

But even without considering that turbulent room, the damage was glaringly apparent. It dominated the space surrounding where they’d landed.

The grand staircase was so much rubble, more of it blasted apart and smashed than there was remaining intact and whole. Dust floated in the air. Tiny particles stirred up during the fighting, and so small they continued to hover, a day later, refusing to settle. Even the massive front doors were missing, having been demolished during the last bout of fighting just prior to Harry and Voldemort’s epic showdown.

Tonks turned in slow circles, taking it all in. Horror etched deep groves all across her face, and her jaw hung loose.

“I’m leaving as soon as we’re done here,” a younger Hermione was saying to Ron, fidgeting nervously on the spot as she did. 

At the sound of her timid voice, Tonks spun to see the pair meeting in the otherwise deserted entrance hall, having so far gone unnoticed in the face of the larger chaos and destruction surrounding Tonks.

“What? Today, you mean?” Ron demanded, stunned by what he was hearing. His overly long, lank hair fell into his face, and he swatted it back absently.

“Hermione…” Tonks breathed, moving until her hand found Hermione’s arm to clutch it tightly.

“What?” Hermione asked, confused as to what had inspired such a reaction in the seasoned Auror.

“You look...” Tonks whispered, as though afraid speaking louder would either disturb the nearby pair, or make what she was seeing a reality. 

Hermione had to admit that she did look a bit like the walking dead. An Inferi. Or maybe a scarecrow. Little more than a bag of bones. Hermione had forgotten just how gaunt and haggard she’d ended up after nearly a year without regular, reliable meals. Not even three weeks at Shell Cottage had made much of an impact.

Ron was in basically the same shape too, though having abandoned her and Harry, he’d gone less time without eating regular meals after recovering a bit.

“It’s going to get so much worse, isn’t it?” Tonks stated miserably.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione replied, not bothering to sugarcoat it. The evidence was staring them in the face, so there really was no point.

“Yes,” she heard the younger Hermione say quietly, though firmly, answering Ron’s startled question.

“What about us? We only just --”

“My parents have been gone a year now, Ron. I have to try and find them,” Hermione insisted, willing Ron to understand her position. 

After Fred’s death, the value of family was clearer than ever before. Hermione recalled the subtle shift that had taken place. Ron had always complained about his large family, but not once had he ever done so again after losing one.

“Oh, right,” Ron said dully, not arguing with her. 

Much of the fight seemed to have gone out of him since he’d seen his brother’s lifeless body. A deflated balloon. He just didn’t have it in him anymore to care. About anything. Least of all her running off to a place untouched by war while he joined Harry in the ongoing Death Eater roundup.

“You understand then?” the younger Hermione prompted, every bit as worn out as Ron. 

Hermione remembered dreading the fight she’d thought would come when she told him her plan. They’d always been so prickly with each other, always determined to have the correct viewpoint or get their way. But he’d hardly cared, and they were both so numb in the aftermath of the fighting, that three months apart hadn’t mattered.

“Where… ?” Tonks asked, looking around for a glimpse of the promised son.

“I’m still getting the hang of selecting the memories,” Hermione admitted. 

She could pull them with ease, but still had a tendency to pull too much. A part of her mind always seemed to insist more was better. A little voice saying, _What if you miss something because it wasn’t enough?_

It was the same voice that had goaded her throughout her schooling. The bane of Severus’s existence as a teacher if he was to be believed. Relating her essays to rereading entire books on subjects he was already perfectly learned in.

“Yeah, I guess. Don’t have much say or choice, do I?” Ron muttered petulantly. 

He was so angry that Fred had died. He didn’t know how to process the loss, something he’d never had to experience before, and Hermione hadn’t known how to properly be there for him. They’d always been at odds, constantly saying the wrong thing to the other and unintentionally provoking the other’s temper. She’d been too afraid to even try to help him as a result.

“He’ll be here -- yes, there he is now,” Hermione began to tell Tonks, speaking over her younger self.

“Look, when -- oh, Harry! You’re here,” the eighteen-year-old Hermione began, breaking into her apology as Harry stepped through the open doors. A tiny bundle wrapped all in blue cradled protectively in his arms.

Harry didn’t look away from the tiny person he was carrying as his feet moved on autopilot towards his closest friends. Tonks rushed over, peering over Harry’s shoulder for a closer look at her son. Wonder and awe replaced every bit of her previous worry as she took in the boy’s face. 

Hermione didn’t know what she was feeling. Her emotions were all knotted up, irrevocably bound by conflicting desires and plans and people.

“Is that…?” Ron asked, succeeding in getting Harry to look away from the baby in his arms.

“Teddy. Yes,” he said, smiling with genuine happiness. It was the first time Hermione remembered seeing him look so in close to a year. Even if it was encased in a bittersweet shell, like a piece of candy.

“I thought Mrs. Tonks was bringing him,” the younger Hermione mused, glancing about to see if she’d followed Harry in.

But it wasn’t Andromeda Tonks that stepped inside, but Ginny. Harry stared at her like a man lost in the desert suddenly presented with an oasis. Such longing and desire, that both Hermiones looked a bit uncomfortable, and Ron just looked angry. He’d still not forgiven Harry for hurting Ginny the summer before.

Tonks was completely oblivious, too caught up in getting an unprecedented chance to see her son nearly two years before he was born. Before he was even conceived.

“I saw you come inside,” Ginny said quietly, explaining her presence there.

Tonks finally glanced up. A quick look between Harry and Ginny had her asking, “So they...oh, that’s absolutely perfect!”

Hermione smiled faintly as Ron pointedly reminded, “Harry, mate, Teddy?” to break the mounting tension filling the room.

“He was being fussy. She let me bring him inside to get away for everyone staring,” Harry answered, still watching Ginny hungrily. His eyes devoured her, hardly daring to believe she was real. Alive, when so many weren’t.

Because that's why they were there. For the funerals. Rows and rows and rows of chairs were assembled on the Hogwarts’s grounds. All facing the long line of white marble coffins, arranged like a row of perfectly straight and pristine teeth.

“That’s where you’ve been all morning?” Ginny asked, curiosity coloring her voice. “Mum wondered when you weren’t at breakfast this morning.”

The whole family had likely been worried.

“Yes. I needed to see him,” Harry replied, ignoring Ron and Hermione altogether as he clutched the child a little tighter to his chest. Teddy, for his part, reached up to pat Harry’s cheek. The action had Harry swallowing so thickly that they could all see his Adam’s apple bob. “Gin, when today is over…”

“Count on it,” she said, smiling, a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes. The warmth of her expression seemed to fall over all of them, melting the painful frost of Death’s touch. 

She’d later told Hermione that after they’d hashed things out, rather loudly on Ginny’s part, Ginny had given Harry a thorough and proper thank you for triumphing over Voldemort and surviving yet again. Hermione hadn’t really wanted to know about that, but she was happy for her friends.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had both been so distracted with their grief and looking after a zombie-like George, that they’d not even noticed that Ginny had spent the night at Harry’s.

“Everyone, this is my godson, Teddy. Teddy, these are the other three most important people in my life. Say hi for me,” Harry said, showing the little boy off. He ran a reverent finger over Teddy’s face, and smiled when the infant tried to grasp it, gurgling all the while.

Tonks looked as though she longed to be the one touching and holding the boy.

“Harry, I think they’re starting soon,” Ginny said quietly, resting a hand on Harry’s back. He leaned into the touch, like magnets being pulled together.

“I can’t yet. I’m just going to stay here for a while,” Harry rasped, sounding slightly choked as he considered facing the masses again so soon. He’d given everyone what they needed of him right after the battle, but now he needed a moment for himself, to process all he’d lost.

“You’ll be out later?” the younger Hermione asked, worried, and wondering if they should stay with him. Her at the very least. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley probably needed Ron and Ginny right then, George too.

“Yeah, Hermione, I promised Kingsley I’d make a speech,” Harry said, turning faintly green at the thought.

Hermione still remembered that speech, probably would for the rest of her life. He’d taken his cue from the various examples Dumbledore had set. Speaking of unity and forgiveness, and the necessity of it if they were to heal and move forward, building a stronger society than the one they’d been a part of previously.

The memory ended, and Tonks and Hermione were both abruptly expelled from the Pensieve to land back on the sofa with a bouncing plop.

“You couldn’t have been much older than the other you at Hogwarts right now. I can’t believe I talked George into having a kid already,” Tonks gushed, amazed and thrilled. “I figured he’d make me wait at least a decade while his business was being established.”

Hermione stared at Tonks, not really sure how to go about explaining. Best treat it like a band-aid -- rip it off in one go. Get it over with all at once.

“George isn’t Teddy’s father,” Hermione said flatly, watching Tonks carefully.

“‘Course he is. Who else wo--”

Tonks cut herself off, blinking dazedly at Hermione. Confusion twisted her face as she realized Hermione wasn’t laughing or joking about Teddy’s paternity.

“Hermione, who did I have a son with?” Tonks asked cautiously, seeming suddenly afraid to hear the answer.

“Remus. Remus is Teddy’s father,” Hermione reluctantly admitted.

“No. No way,” Tonks denied, staring beseechingly at Hermione as she vowed, “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“ _You_ didn’t. I told you, my presence here is the problem. _I’m the one doing this to you_ ,” Hermione moaned sadly, feeling the full weight or her actions. The consequences of meddling with time. There was always a price. Always.

“You’re sure he’s Remus’s?” Tonks asked, seeming to have leapt down a different path, racing at a dead sprint to the wrong conclusion.

“He looks just like him,” Hermione said quietly, her voice unable to produce any greater volume as she confessed this truth.

“Show me,” Tonks begged, desperate for a glimpse of the boy Hermione knew. “Please. I want to see him.”

She only hesitated a moment, but in the end, she couldn’t deny Tonks’s request. Considering it, Hermione decided on sharing the memory of Teddy’s tenth birthday. It had fallen on a Saturday, and Harry had gone all out planning the party.

It was a bit risky showing a memory that far in the future, considering how much could alter between now and then, but Hermione was feeling reckless. Reality was nipping at her rapidly fleeing heels, and she couldn’t bring herself to use caution now -- not when it was already far too late to start worrying about it in regards to this situation.

Tonks dove in just as eagerly as she had the first time, perhaps even more so, and Hermione followed closely behind.

The memory Hermione was carrying Al as they headed out back where everyone was gathering for a pickup Quidditch game. The toddler stared up at her with messy raven hair and emerald green eyes that perfectly mimicked his father. There could be no doubt who Albus Severus Potter belonged to. 

Jamie was ahead of her, trailing after Teddy as he always did, and babbling at the birthday boy so fast Teddy couldn’t possibly hope to catch everything he was saying. Jamie worshipped the older boy, and Teddy always made a point to indulge his pseudo brother, nodding along as Jamie rambled. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Victorie watching Teddy as well with a rather dreamy expression on her beautiful face. She couldn’t believe that she’d forgotten about the crush Bill’s eldest daughter harbored for Teddy. She wasn’t quite eight when this memory happened, though she would be in a couple weeks, and this was right around when it first showed itself.

They headed to where Ginny and Val were already standing, Hermione having gone inside to fetch the kids. Tonks shot Val a cursory glance, probably because she had no idea who the witch was, but continued following Teddy. Her fixation primarily focused on her son.

While Hermione knew they looked alike, she had forgotten just how closely Teddy resembled Remus. The boy was a nearly perfect replica.

“You’re really not playing?” Val demanded of Ginny. “I can’t imagine sitting out if I didn’t have to. You’re raving, G--”

The redhead smiled and placed a hand low over her still flat abdomen. “Can’t,” she said, grinning mischievously and biting her bottom lip when her former teammate cut herself off, understanding.

“You’re pregnant again,” the younger Hermione gasped.

“Three months. We were waiting to tell everyone since today is about Teddy, but I’m too excited,” Ginny gushed.

“I bet Harry is over the moon,” Hermione replied blandly, knowing her friend.

“You have no idea,” Gin groaned, letting her head fall back dramatically. “Harry is hoping for a girl this time. He’s been begging for another ever since he realized Teddy would be leaving us for Hogwarts soon.”

Tonks froze, but didn’t turn around, choosing to continue watching Teddy where he was hugging Harry. Harry ruffled the boy’s turquoise hair as he slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders to keep him close.

“You ready for this?” Harry prompted, smiling widely, without a care in the world. It was a vastly different look from the last memory Hermione had shared.

“Only if I’m on your team,” Teddy declared loudly.

“Of course, can’t do it without you,” Harry vowed, face shining with love for his godson.

Teddy’s eyes turned from Remus’s glacial blue to Harry’s emerald green, same as they always did around his godfather. Their bond was so readily apparent in that moment. It was everything Sirius and Harry had been denied the opportunity to have.

The two wizards wandered closer to the women, Ron appearing beside them. Harry winked at the flushing Ginny, causing Tonks to release a slightly strained and weak chuckle at the easy flirtation between the two.

“I’m on Val’s team then. Could do with a pro player since Ginny’s being a wimp today,” Ron announced, referring to the game as he passed out the armload of brooms he was carrying. Ron hesitated, shifting the broom he was holding when he paused in front of the memory Hermione. “Hermione, I assume you’re helping the wimp and Mum with the little ones then?”

“Don’t I always?”

Val rolled her eyes, but moved to kiss her husband’s cheek, leaning to whisper in his ear. Ron blanched, looking between Harry and Gin, but thankfully, he kept his thoughts to himself. The younger Hermione quickly masked a smile and busied herself by adjusting Al’s perch on her hip.

“When are we going to?” Ron asked Val, wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully.

“When you can carry it. I’ve got a career right now, and I can’t play if I’m pregnant,” Val replied swiftly, and likely not for the first time either.

“So we stick with a bit more practice then?” Ron asked, his ears turning mauve as he did. “Think you’d care to --”

“My boys are listening -- watch what you say,” Ginny snapped.

Harry distracted her with a kiss, covering the hand on her belly with his. Though he broke it off rather quickly to refocus on Teddy.

Meanwhile, Tonks’s attention had remained glued to her son. She studied him, taking in every detail.

“Mu--Mione, need me to help bring anything out before we start?” Teddy asked, glancing from her to the broom Ron offered before accepting it.

“I can help him!” Victorie offered, darting forward.

“No, you go have fun, we’ve got it covered,” the other witch promised, amused by his thoughtfulness as she gave him a one-armed hug, careful not to unseat Al..

“Okay,” he said eagerly. When he saw who’d just arrived, he screamed, “George!”

Teddy barreled over to hug the newcomer, hair turning Weasley red in the process. Even with the familiar red hair, it was clear that Teddy didn’t belong to George. Teddy had always struggled to change any feature other than his nose, eye color, and hair color. And then he rarely changed his nose, not seeing the point if he couldn’t make it look cooler. Andromeda had once said it had been the same for Tonks until she started Auror training and learned a few tips and tricks.

George swung Teddy up in a hug, the broom clattering to the ground as he did, momentarily ignored. Hermione remembered when George first taught Teddy to fly. Harry had been furious to miss out on the opportunity, having been planning to take him out for weeks. George had just smirked, and said, “Better luck next time, mate. This milestone was all mine by rights.”

“There’s my birthday boy!” George exclaimed. “Just wait until you see what I’ve brought you. Bet you like what I’ve got for you back at the shop even more!” The last was said with a conspiratorial wink that she now wondered about. Did it have something to do with this version of herself and Sirius? Probably.

“Tonks, we should --”

“Just a bit more. Please,” Tonks pleaded, voice husky with unshed tears as she brushed away Hermione’s outstretched hand. “I want -- _need_ \-- more.”

Hermione recognized the look on her face. It was the same one Harry wore whenever he looked at pictures of his parents. Deep, unresolved longing.

“Please,” the witch begged again, drinking in the sight of Teddy with Harry and George. 

The boy’s head whipped back and forth as they took turns making him laugh delightedly. Teddy was nearly always so full of life and happy. It was only around the full moon that he got moody and agitated easily.

“Did you see?” Gin asked suddenly, drawing their attention back to the three witches. Ron had gone off to wrangle the rest of the kids and greet Percy’s family and his parents, who had all just arrived.

“Just like how you were,” the younger Hermione teased. “ _Oh, Harry!_ ” Hermione mimicked dramatically, feigning a faint and earning herself a swat from Ginny.

“Maybe one day they’ll be married too,” Val suggested, popping a grape in her mouth and smirking at Gin’s alarmed expression.

“Let’s not rush it. I’m not ready to consider losing my eldest yet. Bad enough we only get him three nights a week, even less after he starts Hogwarts in a little over a year,” Gin said dryly, looking towards Teddy herself.

Tonks began crying, and Hermione gently took her arm to leave. She didn’t know if she’d done the right thing in sharing this particular memory. Before reviewing it, she’d barely remembered anything that was said, only that Teddy had been so happy, and she’d thought Tonks would appreciate seeing that. Not to mention how easy it was to see who his parents were. 

No matter what color his hair or eyes turned, the face was Remus’s. He had Remus’s tall, rangy build too rather than George’s stockier frame. It had always been that way. Hermione had seen baby photos of Remus since moving into the cabin that had once belonged to his parents, and even as a baby, Teddy had looked just like his father.

“Tonks?” Hermione whispered, lightly touching her arm.

“It was his birthday, right?” she asked brokenly, sobbing as she spoke.

“Tenth,” Hermione confirmed.

“Neither of his parents were there,” she rasped. The way she worded it, made it seem like she was already putting distance between herself and the situation. “At least you were there.”

Hermione blinked at the statement, not completely understanding. It took a second, given her confusion, but Hermione also realized that Tonks’s hair had faded to a washed out, mousy brown, and her eyes a shade warm whiskey.

“I’m going try to --”

Tonks interrupted, shoving the words out forcefully. “You got lucky with Sirius. The rest of us can’t count on another miracle. That’s putting too much on you. Especially after the last few months. I know you’ve been trying to change other things, without any success.” Her chin tilted up stubbornly even as glassy, glittering tears trekked down her cheeks, mourning the loss of the life she wanted with her son. “You’ll raise him for us, won’t you? I saw you with him. It was perfect. And Harry. It’ll still --”

Tonks’s earlier words finally made sense. She wanted Hermione to raise Teddy. Except that wasn’t going to happen. Not now.

“Please don’t be so understanding. Not now,” Hermione said pitifully, ducking her head. She couldn’t bear to face Tonks’s sad eyes a second longer.

“What haven’t you told me?” she asked fearfully.

“Remus says he doesn’t want him,” Hermione admitted, willing herself to continue, to be frank with her friend, “and I think it’s my fault.”

“Not want him? But...but, he’s incredible! Just seeing him...I love him already, Hermione.”

“I know. Trust me, I know,” Hermione said quietly. Remus would likely feel the same if he saw the boy for himself, but Hermione knew he’d never agree to view her memories. It was too much of a risk to her.

“He’s only saying that because the whole situation is a little unorthodox,” Tonks said dismissively. It was enough to have Hermione’s head snapping up and her mouth falling open as she stared at Tonks incredulously. “I’ll talk to him, and we’ll get it sorted. Don’t worry.”

Hermione suspected that Tonks didn’t really understand how adamant he’d been. So much so, that Hermione hadn’t even attempted arguing, and she was the most stubborn person she knew. Always, Hermione pushed until people came around to her way of thinking or gave up arguing with her, losing the strength or interest in continuing. Somehow, she’d instinctively known that wasn’t going to happen here in this instance.

“Unless you’re not all right with this?” Tonks asked tentatively, studying Hermione’s weary expression. “I know it’s asking for you to be --”

“No, no, it’s not that. I want Teddy,” Hermione promised. Seeing him again had renewed her desire to have the boy in her life, no matter how it came to happen.

“Good. Just think. He’ll have Remus, you, me, George, Harry, Ginny, Sirius, the other Weasleys, my parents -- he’ll be the most loved kid in the entire world,” Tonks said in a rush, swallowing back a fresh wave of tears as she mentioned people that may or may not get the chance to be a part of her son’s life. “And you saw, he knows it.”

“Yeah, Tonks. He certainly will,” Hermione said, voice quivering with suppressed emotion.

“Don’t worry, it’ll work out,” Tonks repeated determinedly, a fierce glint in her dark amber eyes.

“He’ll be at the Burrow tomorrow. Dropping me off,” Hermione said, offering her unspoken consent to change Remus’s mind. 

She felt a bit numb as she said the words, recalling for the second time that day the sight of Tonks and Remus yelling at each other in the garden at the Burrow. It wasn’t a memory that filled her with a great deal of confidence in Tonks’s persuasive abilities. But Hermione figured she’d interfered too much as it was. The rest was up to the two of them.

Tonks nodded in understanding, and nothing else was said on the subject of Teddy or Tonks and Remus’s potentially shifting relationship. After all, he was already calling her Dora. 

Did that mean anything? Was Hermione setting herself up to lose him? She didn’t think so. That wasn’t Tonks, and she trusted Remus. 

Unorthodox. Right. What a nice way to sum up the tangled mess of a situation she’d made for herself.

But when Tonks left shortly after, Hermione couldn’t help but notice that Tonk’s hair still resembled dirty dishwater.

The situation, which she’d recently thought was already resolved, seemed to be getting more complicated by the day.

And just in case things did go a certain way, that night Hermione performed the Arithmancy calculations to pinpoint Teddy’s conception date to within twenty-four hours, the image of Teddy laughing foremost in her mind as she did. Afterwards, she brewed the most potent Fertility Potion in existence that would provide the best chance of Tonks getting pregnant in one go.

Just in case.


	5. 5: Reality Bites

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

As a reminder, if you don’t like the pairing of Remus and Hermione, don’t bother reading this. If you do, then don’t write a gibberish review saying it’s morally wrong to imagine a situation that makes it all right for them to be together because I’ll just have to delete it. Sorry, not trying to be a bitch, but this story is clearly a Remus/Hermione pairing (especially considering it’s a sequel) and it’s completely illogical to read it if you know you’ll object. Constructive criticism is welcome, being a judgemental asshole isn’t.

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 5: Reality Bites

July-August 1996

“ _Protego!_ ” Hermione cried, shielding a Muggle from the spell aimed at the girl. She was maybe fourteen or fifteen. 

Her friend, a curly-haired blonde with far too much make-up, was already unconscious. As were a number of other people out shopping in Brighton that day, enjoying the summer coastal town. So far as she could tell, the Death Eaters weren’t attempting to kill any of the Muggles, only incapacitate them.

A jet of green light shot her way in retaliation, but she ducked, avoiding the deadly spell. Apparently, she was a different story.

Hermione turned to find the attacking Death Eater as night seemed to swiftly descend across the noonday sky. Dark clouds rolled in, and the temperatures plummeted from one heartbeat to the next. The colorful shops dulled. The salty breeze blowing off the ocean lost its pleasantness, instead scraping and chaffing her raw as the gritty wind whipped past.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” she cried, realizing what was happening in an instant.

Nothing. Not even a silver wisp trailed out of her wand.

Lovely. What blasted rotten timing! Particularly when she’d recently discovered she was defenseless against the hooded beings of fear and despair.

Her breath fogged the air, and the sound of pops echoed through the street. Death Eaters Disapparating. Their work evidently done.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” she cast again. Still nothing. 

Why was she even bothering to try? It wasn’t like her memories were getting happier later, even if her relationship, when placed in a bubble suspended in time, was brilliant. If anything, she was getting more twisted up with worry and doubt and fear.

Dementors flowed through the street, gliding between shops and feasting on the downed individuals. Hermione watched, horrified, as one of the Dementor’s bodies seemed yanked in opposite directions. A second set of arms formed as it inhaled, drawing as much substance into itself as possible as the arms began to extend farther outward. It swelled. Larger and larger until a second face materialized on the far side of the mass as well. Farther and farther they pulled apart, like taffy or chewing gum stretched too far until it split in the fragile, thinned middle. Then there were two.

Two separate Dementors.

_They were breeding_. Feasting on the Muggles the Death Eaters had supplied in order for the Dementors to reproduce.

Hermione fell to her knees and vomited. Thick, acidic bile rushed out of her mouth, stinging her throat, and making her gag painfully before it splattered over the rough sidewalk.

“ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” a nearby voice bellowed.

A silver doe trotted past her, deflecting the cloaked wraith that had been bearing down on her. Drawn to the degree of horror and despair she was projecting over what she’d witnessed. Hermione glanced around, spotting Severus between two buildings, scowling darkly at her.

“Severus,” she whispered, trying to utter more words, and failing as more bitter sick filled her mouth, forcing her to heave onto the ground once more.

Finished, she looked up again, only to be met with a warning look that stalled her from speaking.

“Why’d you do that?” a masked figure demanded, appearing beside Severus. 

“I have no wish to have those things near me, and I was certain it would head this way when finished with her,” the professor drawled lazily, as though the reason for his actions should have been painfully obvious to even the most dimwitted individual. 

“If you’re not given’ her to the Dementors, I’m gonna finish her off myself,” Severus’s companion announced.

Hermione didn’t waste another moment. She staggered to her feet and turned on the spot, vanishing before he could even raise his wand to aim at her or compromise Severus’s position if he felt compelled to protect her again.

Today was just another example of how she couldn’t make a difference.

~

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes

“He’s downstairs,” Sirius grumbled, pacing back and forth before her spot on the sofa. “Right at this very moment, he’s here.”

“Uh-huh,” Hermione agreed absently, deciding against informing the disgruntled man that, in fact, Harry was not downstairs shopping for pranks in the twins’ shop, but instead, he was on his way to Knockturn Alley with her and Ron.

“Capital. Bloody brilliant. Thank you again for making me take the Unbreakable Vow,” he said, glowering at her.

“Your welcome for saving you, so that someday you can visit the shop with Harry, and help his kids buy loads of inappropriate joke supplies. All of which they will no doubt use to harass their professors or get up to all sorts of mischief at Hogwarts,” Hermione reminded him pointedly.

“Well, I suppose there is that,” he said slowly, nodding as he mulled it over.

“Too right,” Hermione said briskly, earning a wry smile from the man as he flopped down beside her.

“Oh, come off it. You know I didn’t really mean it,” he sighed, running a hair through his shaggy hair. He really should give it a trim. He was starting to resemble a vagrant.

Though perhaps she should simply be satisfied that it was clean. A vast improvement from this time last year.

“I know,” she allowed, smiling wearily. 

They’d been through a similar discussion a few days earlier when she and Remus had visited on Harry’s birthday. She figured it would be difficult for him to let the day go without reaching out to his godson, and it had. The only thing that had appeased him at all, was sending Remus to celebrate with Harry in his stead.

Remus, who still had yet to comment on her spilling everything to Tonks or about setting him up to face the young witch at the Burrow weeks earlier, had simply kissed Hermione and promised to spend as much of the day with Harry as possible. Much to Sirius’s relief. Hers too, in fact. Even if it meant she had to sacrifice some of the precious little time that they had together.

Sirius had then insisted that since she didn’t have Remus to distract her, she could stick around and play Exploding Snap with him. Hermione was still rather glad that she’d agreed, seeing how the new mustache Sirius had been trying out caught fire during one of his turns, and he’d since shaved the remainder of the ghastly thing off. Hermione had secretly thought it resembled a rat pinned under his nose. He was much more strikingly handsome without it.

“Do you know who’s next?” Sirius asked suddenly.

“No,” Hermione admitted regretfully.

He’d not needed to specify for her to know he’d been referring to attacks in Diagon Alley. Hermione had been tracking the giants with Fred when Ollivander and Fortescue were attacked two weeks earlier. She’d not even heard about it until she visited Sirius later that week. He’d heard about it from George since he wasn’t leaving his flat at all.

It made her think the giant attacks in West Country had been a diversion to get the Order and Ministry to be focused elsewhere while Voldemort and his minions went after the real targets.

Hermione still couldn’t believe the attacks weren’t reported in the Prophet until several days after they’d happened. Hermione supposed all the other attacks and disappearances had filled the earlier editions, making those two wait for room to be printed about. Or it could have possibly been the fact that so many were happening all over Britain, that nobody noticed two more missing until the shops failed to open for the fifth day in a row. The paper was doing a good job of wording things so as not to let their readers know just how behind the current happenings they actually were. 

Probably the worst thing about the Diagon Alley disappearances, was that they’d happened quietly. Not the showy attacks the Death Eaters typically favored. Violent light shows with the Dark Mark hovering in the sky afterwards as a sick announcement. The fact that they happened in such a public place, right under everyone’s noses without anyone noticing, terrified the general public. Anyone could be next, and they’d never see it coming.

That wasn’t to say Death Eaters weren’t still doing things the traditional way too. Karkaroff was proof of that. He’d been found on the thirtieth in a shack in Portree on the Isle of Skye with the glowing symbol marking the kill of the traitorous Death Eater that dared to desert their ranks.

The former Drumstrang Headmaster’s death had occurred the day after her disastrous run-in with the Dementors. 

Hermione was exhausted. Rundown and disheartened. No wonder Voldemort was winning the first time around. She couldn’t imagine enduring eleven years of this, and still having the will to fight. 

Writing and conversing with Remus everyday helped, but he still didn’t share more details than necessary about what he got up to with the pack, and she was concerned it would take a toll on him as it had before. It hurt her for him to think so poorly of himself. Not to mention how infuriating it was.

And, when she wasn’t worried about Remus, she was fretting over Severus. She’d thought he’d come see her after helping her during the Dementor attack in Brighton, but he still hadn’t. There was no way to deny the fact he was avoiding her at this point. It had been nearly two months now since they’d had a proper conversation. Damn, infuriating bat!

Hermione moved to the window, wondering if she could spot herself and the others returning. Anything to take her mind off such depressing thoughts. But all she saw was a hunched man selling amulets to ward off werewolves.

“Amulets against werewolves! How thick could a person be to buy such rubbish?”

The only thing needed to guard against a werewolf was to stay inside on the night of a full moon. Or a simple Stunning Charm if you were foolish enough to be out wandering around at night. But no. People always panicked and tried to run, which only incited the predatory nature of the wolf, making it want to hunt the person down.

It really was too bad they hadn’t known the spell during third year. She and Harry had learned it during fourth year for the Third Task during the Triwizard Tournament, and even then it wasn’t yet part of the curriculum. Maybe if they had already known it, Peter Pettigrew wouldn’t have escaped, and Sirius’s name would have been cleared. Something needed to be done about a protective spell like that not being ordinarily taught until sixth year Charms -- a time when students not taking the N.E.W.T level class never even learned it!

Really if people would only --

“Oh, yeah, I saw him out there yesterday too,” Sirius said casually. Too casually for her liking.

“It’s ridiculous. Utter nonsense. An amulet wouldn’t work against a werewolf in the first place. Second, they haven’t even been attacking -- thanks to Remus!” she argued, infuriated by the man prompting fear and hatred of werewolves. 

Her mind wound back to her previous unfinished thought. If people were only a little better educated on the subject, Remus wouldn’t have suffered most of his life. The packs probably wouldn’t exist at all. There’d be no need for them.

“Greyback has,” Sirius countered.

He was correct too. Greyback had attacked five different people this summer, including someone during each of the last two full moons. Only one of those victims survived, though she was now infected herself. Rumors about his proclivities were whispered about with more fear than ever lately.

“Because he is a filthy, disgusting monster,” she barked, shoving memories of her own dealings with him away.

“Someone is feeling feisty today,” Sirius chuckled, entirely too amused for her liking. Hermione whirled on him, and he hastily added, “Stupid amulets. Do go on.”

Hermione clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

Then she thought she heard him mutter, “I think I liked it better when you were ranting about Dementors.”

Ignoring him, Hermione said, “They don’t work, but ignorant people believe that they do, then they take foolish risks that get them killed,” vocalizing the root of her issue. Aside from the negative impacts they had on Remus and public perception.

“You can’t save everyone. Ministry officials are out day and night trying to shut the peddlers down, but a new one pops up as soon as the last is shut down,” Sirius reminded, identifying the real issue. It was the same when it came to Muggles and drug dealers. Or anything illegal really -- in both worlds.

“I hate this,” she growled, feeling impotent.

“People are scared, Hermione. They do desperate things when afraid. Anything to help them feel safer -- feel like they are doing something productive,” Sirius rationalized, displaying the insight he’d gained from participating in two wars. She appreciated how much easier he was to interact with now as compared to when he was living in Grimmauld Place.

“I know,” she sighed, because he’d not said anything new to her, simply pointed out how crazy she was acting by expecting something different. A flash of silver caught her eye, then she saw Harry, Ron, and herself darting into the sop. “Oh, good, we’re back.”

“Back? We? What do you mean back?” Sirius said, hurrying to her side to look out. He frowned, not seeing anything amiss.

“We went to Knockturn Alley,” she explained.

“We...as in _Harry_?” he demanded, the color draining from his face. Knockturn Alley was dangerous at the best of times, but currently, it was crawling with Death Eaters and Voldemort’s spies.

“Yes, I wanted to make sure you didn’t notice, and get it into your head to follow after him,” Hermione admitted blandly, knowing Sirius would hate feeling like she’d been babysitting him all afternoon, but that he would also recognize the necessity of her actions.

Sirius roughly scrubbed a hand over his face, then met her eye and muttered, “I swear that boy will be the death of me.”

He winced as soon as the words left his mouth. Neither said it, but both were thinking the same, Harry already believed he was responsible for Sirius’s untimely death.

But she knew what he meant. Considering the things they’d gotten up to from an adult’s perspective, was enough to land them all in early graves out of sheer terror.

~

Lupin Cabin

Hermione felt like her head was going to explode. Remus’s tongue danced over her clit, sensually flicking and swiping the little bundle. Over and over again.

“Oh, don’t stop,” she babbled, feeling her muscles tighten and her toes curl. “That feels so _amazing_ ,” she moaned. 

His response was a chuckle, the vibrating hum of it generating a pulsing sensation against her nerves. Her hips rocked up, attempting to press closer, slightly begging for more, and he caught them in his hands, holding her like that. 

He used the new angle to run his tongue along her slit, slipping the tip into her tight channel when he reached it. Gently, he lapped at her, reminding her more of a cat than the wolf he was.

“I could spend days doing this,” he murmured, inching back towards her bundle of nerves, and driving her wild in the process.

“I’d...,” Hermione gassed, panting and seeing stars as she finished saying, “let… you.”

Gladly. She’d gladly spend days on end in bed with Remus doing nothing more than savoring one another. He was a drug that she’d never get enough of. Not ever.

It wouldn’t stop her from trying though.

“Yes!” Hermione cried, feeling that wonderful burst of pleasure erupt inside her core. Bliss radiated outwards, filling her. 

She was still reeling when Remus crawled up her body, trailing kisses as he went, before sliding into her with practiced ease. In a single long stroke. And just like that they were one.

He set a leisurely pace, allowing her time to recover, but when her heels dug into his bum, trying to pull him closer, he rolled, letting her take the lead. Hermione rose and fell over him, appreciating his wandering hands as they tweaked and pinched her nipples.

“You’re a vision like this. A goddess to worship,” he said raspily, absorbing her with heavy-lidded eyes. 

A smile tugged at her lips, and her nails scraped over his chest. In answer, he caught her hips, squeezing in silent invitation for her to ride him faster. 

She did.

Rolling her hips, Hermione ground her pelvis against his, letting her eyelids fall shut. Fireworks exploded behind her eyes. Bright splashes of color that mimicked the fizzy, popping bubbles of pleasure alighting her system. 

She felt herself surrendering to the inevitable high they reached whenever they were together, collapsing atop his chest. And she was rewarded with the feel of him coming undone beneath her.

Afterwards, Hermione ran her fingers through Remus’s hair, noting how much had turned grey in the last few months. His work took such a visual toll on him. From the grey hair to the new array of scars to the stronger muscles. All of it evidence of what he was and what he had to do. Though he was as handsome as ever in her eyes. Probably, he always would be.

“I know. I’m starting to look twice my age,” he sighed wryly.

“Hardly,” Hermione said dryly, pointedly looking at his chiseled chest and scratching her nails over the muscular surface. No seventy-two-year-old man possessed a body this defined. At least none that Hermione had ever seen before.

Remus smiled ruefully, and grabbed her hand, lightly brushing a kiss over the back of it.

“Have you seen your own hair recently?” he asked curiously.

“Why? Is it a fright?” Hermione groaned, reaching to pat the tangled kinks down.

“It’s lighter than normal. Straighter as well,” he said casually.

“It’s the Disguise Charms. I’ve been using them so much, they aren’t canceling properly. A simple _Finite_ isn’t cutting it anymore,” Hermione explained. Repeating the charms on a near daily basis so she could go out and fight seemed to have permanently smoothed out her chaotic mane. If only she’d known the answer back at school when Malfoy teased her regularly.

“I miss the honey gold and riotous curls,” he murmured, twisting a lock the shade of pale amber around his finger. A lecherous look crossed his face as he added, “Especially after we --”

A timer dinged.

She debated letting the potions go to ruin, and just starting over once Remus returned to the packs, not wanting to waste this opportunity to be together. His visit this afternoon had been unplanned, or she’d not have started them at all yet.

“Go on, Hogwarts needs your efforts. I’m not worth wasting valuable ingredients or the time you’ve already devoted to preparing them,” he urged, shifting out from beneath her and then out of bed. Once standing, he tossed her discarded clothes to her.

“If I must,” she said, regretfully watching as more and more of his gorgeous body was covered by loose, frayed robes. “Albus better be grateful tomorrow.”

“Albus? I thought…”

“He’s still avoiding me,” Hermione confessed, knowing he was referring to Severus.

“Still? When was the last time you spoke?” Remus asked, following her into the basement, of which she’d converted half into a Potions Room. 

The other half held a cage to contain Remus when he shifted. Now that she was brewing the Wolfsbane Potion for him to take when he wasn’t with one of the packs, it was unnecessary, but he still insisted on using it as a precaution when he was at home with her. He’d never dare risk infecting her.

“The night we went to the Department of Mysteries,” she replied, then remembered, “but he helped me out the other day against the Dementors. I think I told you about it. Has he been attending Order meetings?”

“Yes, he has,” Remus said, brow furrowing as he considered her words. Hermione felt more than saw the measured look he gave her as he watched her work. “Do you want me to say something to him?”

“No she replied immediately.

There was no way that’d go over well. Severus would not appreciate what he’d view as a chastisement from one of the Marauders.

She still had no idea why Severus was avoiding her. Unless it was out of guilt for what he’d said to Remus about her. But she was certain that if it was that, he’d have some glib excuse at the ready, toss it out, then pretend the whole incident had never happened.

Maybe it had to do with what Dumbledore --

“Wotcher!” a familiar voice called from upstairs. 

Hermione suppressed a smile at the way the Auror persisted in letting herself in. One day she was likely to catch an eyeful -- payback for when Hermione had walked in on her, she supposed.

“Do you mind?” she asked.

Remus’s expression was unimpressed, but he went to greet the young witch without comment. Hermione wondered if they’d talked at all since the Burrow. They’d done a mission for Dumbledore together a few days earlier, but that didn’t necessarily mean they talked. She was attempting to stay out of it, feeling that she’d already meddled enough in their affairs.

“You were the one that said I shouldn’t let them go to waste!” she called after his retreating form innocently.

There wasn’t a whole lot left to do before the final batch matured overnight, so Hermione finished up, and went upstairs to enjoy Remus’s surprise visit and see what Tonks had dropped in for. Hopefully it wasn’t something Order related. She really wasn’t ready for Remus to leave yet. 

Except, when she got to the kitchen, it was to find Remus and Tonks arguing. Maybe an Order mission would have been a preferable alternative...

“Good, you’re here. Maybe you can talk sense into him,” Tonks said crisply, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her usually bubbly, good mood was currently nowhere in sight.

The scene was enough to have Hermione turning around with every intention of retreating back to the basement until the storm had passed.

But the sound of Remus’s hoarse, beseeching voice stopped her cold. “Yes, Hermione, join us. This involves you every bit as much as the two of us.”

Reluctantly, she moved to stand facing each of them, making them form the three points of a triangle. She did not want to be there right then. She did not want to take sides, being able to hazard a guess as to the topic they were fighting over.

“Remus was just about to explain why he is so adamant that we not have Teddy, and since he’s practically your son too, I think you should be here for this,” Tonks agreed, tossing the gauntlet with all the care of a live grenade.

How splendid. Though she had to admit, she was curious to hear Remus’s reasons for herself. To see if she’d guessed correctly or not.

“Why would I want to bring a child into a world knowing he’d become an orphan shortly after his birth?” Remus asked sadly, and Hermione found herself shocked by the fact that she had never considered it quite like that.

“Do you honestly think Lily and James would have decided not to have Harry? It’s the same thing!” Tonks countered, shaking her head and pining Remus with a challenging look. 

Hermione opened her mouth, planning to warn Tonks that she’d just waded into shark infested waters, but Remus beat her to it.

“ _Do not speak for them_ \-- you never even met them!” he roared, face turning splotchy with rage.

Tonks would have only been six when they died, and not even five yet when they first began hiding. Hearing stories about people, especially people as beloved as the Potters were to Remus, was not the same thing.

“Sirius told me how much they loved Harry, even with targets on all of their backs. I’m just repeating his words. Surely you’ll agree he has the right to speak for them,” Tonks insisted, not backing down. Hermione winced at her next words, knowing it was because of things Hermione had said to the man. “He agrees with me about all of this.”

Remus scowled at the latter, but addressed the first. “He may speak for them, but you can’t. This situation is entirely different than theirs, and the fact that you can’t see it proves that you --”

“How is it different?” Tonks demanded, cutting Remus off.

“Lily’s pregnancy was an accident!”

“What?” Hermione gasped, unable to help herself.

Remus sighed, shutting his eyes. A pained look came over his face, and when he spoke, the words were quiet in the deathly still room. 

“James and Sirius kept throwing themselves into every mission Dumbledore would give them. They took so many stupid risks. Lil said she wanted to wait until it was over to have kids in case…in case James died. She didn’t want to be a single mum mourning her lost love.

“But then she found out she was already pregnant -- at the age of nineteen no less. Before Lil had even gotten a chance to start her grueling Charms Apprenticeship. Her parents had just died the month before she found out. James’s too the year before. They were so young. Living in the middle of a war. Then the prophecy. And hiding. And…” he shook his head, unable to continue.

Hermione felt sick. That information was something she was positive no one had ever shared with Harry -- for very good reason. Bad enough his aunt and uncle had made sure he’d known they didn’t want him. He was liable to read the same into this, even if this was more a result of fear and unfortunate circumstances than not wanting a family -- or specifically, him.

“I want Teddy,” Tonks said simply, standing firm, and making her desire clear. “Circumstances be damned. They’re never truly ideal, so the war hardly matters.”

“But you won’t be here. And what will he have when we’re gone? Nothing. I have nothing to leave him,” Remus stated flatly. Hermione sensed this conversation was draining him. Emotionally, if not physically.

“Oh, don’t give me that. He’ll have plenty. Harry will make sure of it, and we both know it,” Tonks said dismissively, refusing to see his point as a valid concern. 

“Harry’s a child still! Sixteen. He’s only sixteen. It’s not his responsibility to step up and be a father. He’s not the one asking for a child -- you are. You’re asking, knowing you won’t be around for the hard part. The late night crying and diaper changes. The hurts and tantrums. The constant reliance on another to see that his every need is met for the next seventeen years. 

“Instead, we’re foisting him off on another child,” Remus said harshly, lips thinning as he considered the implications of how having Teddy would negatively impact Harry’s life. “Harry doesn’t deserve that on top of everything else. He’s shouldered enough. He deserves a break.”

“Deserve? Neither of us deserve what will happen, but that’s life. No one ever knows how long they’ll have, so that shouldn’t stop a person from living. If it did, you’d not be with Hermione right now. And if you want to talk about what people deserve, why not try Teddy! He deserves to exist,” Tonks insisted, an almost pleading edge creeping into her voice. It cut Hermione to the quick to hear it, and even Remus flinched. Though he bounced back quickly.

“Don’t try to rationalize your selfishness. It’s selfish of you to want him. It’s selfish of you to expect Harry to raise and care for him. It’s --”

“Selfish! So what if I am!” Tonks yelled, smacking a balled fist on the kitchen counter. The loud, unexpected thud made Hermione jump, the movement grabbing Tonks’s attention. “I love him already, and you would too if you’d seen him. So does Harry for that matter. And Hermione here -- I know she does. You know it too!”

“Next time you see Harry, ask him what it’s like to grow up without parents. Then try to justify deciding to bring a child into the world only to abandon it soon after,” Remus repeated, standing by his earlier argument, and ignoring the reference to Hermione. “Worse, to do it knowingly.”

His words had Hermione suddenly thinking of the boy Tom Riddle, and the damage that very thing had done to him. Remus had a point, even if because of her time travel, she knew this would turn out differently.

“There are people that will tell him we loved him. That’s enough,” Tonks whispered, a shiny film materializing over her eyes.

“You sound like a child, Dora,” Remus accused wearily. He didn’t mean it to sound patronizing, more pityingly.

“Don’t. Don’t try that. Don’t play that card with me. I’m a fighter, same as you,” she said stubbornly, though tears had finally begun to leak from the corners of her whiskey-hued eyes.

“Perhaps,” he allowed.

“What else? What other stupid arguments have you got?” she demanded, tilting her chin up defiantly. “Because so far I’m not buying them.”

Hermione was startled when that question had him turning to her. She shook her head, willing him not to drag her any further into the fight, but he ignored the silent plea. Guess it was no more than she deserved after everything else she’d done in getting them to this point.

“Can you guarantee that if we had a child, that it would be the boy you knew?” Remus asked, a spark of knowing glittering in his eyes.

Hermione swallowed, contemplating the question. She’d read about the Un-borns. Those that existed until someone messed with time, then they were erased from the timeline altogether, never to exist. She’d assumed Teddy fell under this category. But what if Tonks did conceive? Could she guarantee the baby would be Teddy? The odds were in their favor if they used Arithmancy to narrow down the date and if Tonks took some potions, which she’d already done. But… 

“Guarantee? No. But there is a strong possibility if --”

“But not one hundred percent,” Remus persisted.

“No,” Hermione said quietly, offering Tonks an apologetic glance. The odds were ninety percent at the most.

“So if it’s just a child --”

“I don’t want just any child. I want him. I want that laughing little boy that was going to play Quidditch with the Potters and Weasleys on his birthday. I want the little boy that helped Harry cope after the war -- because Harry may be a child, but I saw him with Teddy. He needs Teddy as much as I do,” Tonks insisted stubbornly. “A reminder of what comes next.”

Remus shook his head, disagreeing. Hermione suspected that Teddy wasn’t really real for him yet. He was still no more than a vague idea. She was equally sure, though, that he’d not want to see the boy. Because then he’d want him too, and Remus was stubborn. Once he’d made up his mind about something, there was no changing it.

“Even if we did, Hermione just said there was no way to guarantee that the babe is Teddy. And if it’s not Teddy, then you also can’t guarantee the child won’t be like me. That it won’t be a werewolf,” Remus said, taking in each of the witches.

Hermione gasped, finally understanding the true source of his reluctance. The reason he didn’t wish to have children at all -- even with her.

“Who cares if the baby is?” Tonks said flippantly. 

Remus blanched in response to her cavalier words. 

He was certain to care greatly. The rest of the wizarding world would too. And after spending months on end with the various werewolf packs, he’d likely be terrified of bringing a child into this world knowing that might be his or her fate. A fate he’d only barely escaped. 

At best, the child could expect a life similar to the one Remus led, and he’d likely consider that little better. Always scrounging for a job and relying on the generosity of friends to make ends meet.

“I do. And if you knew anything about the hardships I’d faced, you would too. Do not talk about what you don’t understand,” Remus warned her. And Hermione understood his fears perfectly -- for the reasons she’d already thought of, and others that were slowly resurfacing as she considered the dangers. 

Nearly every time a baby was born with lycanthropy, the child was killed while still in St. Mungo’s. It was a horror that wasn’t talked about openly -- like the use of house-elf slavery or when certain spells were abused for despicable means. The killing of these afflicted children was a horror she’d not learned of until her fourth year working at the Ministry. Not many were born with it, considering most werewolves didn’t procreate, but those that were rarely made it out of the hospital. And no one ever pressed charges or reported the crime.

Hermione watched as he took careful, deliberate breaths. She could practically see him willing himself to remain detached.

He’d been so young when he was bitten. The curse shaping his views and dreams as he grew up. A fact that likely had determined his stance not to have kids at all. She’d spent the last year convincing him he was a good and worthy man. But that was only one area of his life impacted by what Greyback had turned him into.

“Remus, the chances of passing it on are fifty percent,” Hermione pointed out. 

Lycanthropy was a dominant trait. A person that became infected was always heterozygous for the trait afterwards. It was actually quite fascinating how an individual's genetics were altered after becoming a werewolf.

“Statistically, yes. But the reality… I know you know,” he said mildly.

“Seventy percent,” Hermione acknowledged. “Seventy percent of children born to a single werewolf parent, who manage to survive full term, also suffer from the condition.”

Because most that didn’t have lycanthropy ended up as stillbirths for some inexplicable reason.

“I can’t risk those odds,” Remus said flatly.

“We’ll protect him,” Tonks tried feebly, but even to Hermione her words sounded weak. The fight seemed to have abandoned her. And when she noted Remus’s dark look, she corrected, “Our friends will protect him, and love him regardless. He won’t be alone or unwanted.”

“There’s still the fact that his father was a known werewolf,” Remus pointed out, seeming to have saved this point for last.

“You’re a great man. People respect you. Respect all you’ve done and accomplished,” Tonks stated, not understanding what his words had to do with anything.

Again, Remus turned to Hermione. “Can you honestly tell me that Teddy never once suffered because of what I am?”

Hermione opened her mouth to deny his claim, but found she couldn’t. She wished with every fiber of her being that she could, but she wouldn’t lie to him about this.

Never, for as long as she lived, would she forget Teddy’s letter. 

Students always left for Hogwarts on the first of September, no matter which day of the week, then started classes on the following Monday. Teddy’s first year, the fall before her time travel, he’d left on a Tuesday. That Sunday, while Hermione, Ron and Val, Bill’s family, and the Potters had been having brunch at the Burrow, Harry had received Teddy’s tear-stained plea begging his godfather to come get him.

Teddy had told them about how the kids wouldn’t let him eat with them in the Great Hall, afraid he’d infect them, and how they’d moved all of his belongings into the hall because they were afraid of him sharing a dorm room and attacking them while they slept. It hadn’t mattered that Teddy insisted he wasn’t a werewolf too, they didn’t trust him. They didn’t know him, and fear of werewolves never faded after the war. If anything, it was worse thanks to Greyback.

Harry had gone in an instant. Ginny had stayed only long enough to ask her parents to watch over their kids, then raced after her husband.

The incident had been in the _Prophet_ for weeks, with headlines like _Harry Potter Threatens Students_ or _War Hero Finally Loses It At Hogwarts_. He’d arrived in time for lunch, stormed into the Great Hall and laid into the assembled students. The students, recognizing the famous wizard had been cowering in their seats by the time Headmistress McGonagall resorted to forcibly escorting him from the Great Hall while Harry continued to rail at the kids for their ignorant cruelty.

She’d not heard of anything else happening after that, but she’d always wondered if Teddy was just afraid to share afterwards, reluctant to get his godfather in trouble if there was a repeated scene.

Remus and Tonks were both watching her, and they seemed to understand without her having to explain in detail.

“Please understand me, Dora. It’s not that I don’t want him, because I do. So much it hurts, so much that having this conversation is killing a part of me. But I can’t. I can’t knowingly condemn a child,” Remus said, shocking Hermione. 

She’d never even suspected that he’d been tempted by the idea. It was eye-opening how she was still getting to know essential parts of him after nearly a year together.

“I do,” Tonks whispered, her shoulders slumping as that final straw felled her. “I get it.”

“I’m sorry,” Remus offered, letting his own head hang.

“Me too,” she sighed. “But, Remus? You are a good man. I hope you know that.”

After Tonks closed the door behind her, leaving as soon as she finished speaking, Hermione looked to Remus, and found a man utterly devastated. The devastation such that only a parent that has lost a child could feel.

Hermione took his hand and led him back to their room where she loved him with her entire soul, desperate to heal him and prove that he was loved and worthy and good and noble and everything to her. 

No matter what. 

Always and forever.


	6. 6: The Scent of Love

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 6: The Scent of Love

August-September 1996

Lupin Cabin

“How were things at the Burrow?” Hermione asked, leaning against the kitchen counter to watch Remus. He’d just returned from a brief visit to say goodbye to Harry before he was set to leave for Hogwarts. 

This was actually the fourth time he’d been able to check in with her during the last two weeks, and she was thoroughly enjoying the extra time with him.

“Do you remember Harry’s theory?” he asked, peering into the oven to check on the roast he’d started that morning. 

Hermione smiled to herself as she admired his well-rounded bum while he leaned over. They were making dinner, preparing for Bill and Fleur who would be arriving in approximately twenty minutes. Remus had invited the couple over a few days earlier, when Hermione announced she was ready to tell them of her existence during this time. Remus had initially been hesitant to include Fleur, but Hermione insisted the other witch was to be trusted.

Remus stood, and catching the direction of her gaze, gave her a wolfish grin and a wink. Hermione reached out, taking his hand to pull him close for a kiss. They’d closed the chapter of the book on Teddy, and began a new chapter in the last few weeks as summer too came to a close.

“Which one? As I recall, he had several over the years, and they all sort of blended together after a while,” Hermione admitted, chuckling as she remembered Harry’s tenacity on a number of occasions when he would insist that he was right about some crazy idea or another. ‘Course, he usually was, but that was beside the point.

“About Draco Malfoy,” Remus prompted, accepting the napkins and silverware that Hermione handed him.

“Hmm,” she hummed, noncommittally. “Yes. That rings a bell.”

“It’s ludicrous. Voldemort would never have need of a student. What would be the point?” Remus sighed, evidently frustrated with how the conversation with Harry had gone.

“Hmm,” she hummed again. Focusing on adding the finishing touches to the carrots she was cooking so as not to give too much away.

“He’s letting his prejudice against Malfoy make his imagination run away with him,” Remus continued doggedly. 

She’d come to discover that he thoroughly disliked being on the opposing side of a difference of opinion when it came to Harry. The same held true for Sirius. Luckily, he had no qualms about disagreeing with her. It kept things interesting, though, usually, they held similar opinions on the important things.

“Not unlike James and Severus?” Hermione suggested, glancing over to see the bittersweet smile he wore at the reminder.

“He can be so like his parents at times,” Remus murmured, moving to stand behind Hermione and wrap his arms about her waist. He dropped a light kiss on her neck. “I just wish he’d let us handle things and focus on staying out of trouble for once.”

“There are occasions where Harry doesn’t go looking for trouble, and it simply finds him,” Hermione pointed out, vouching for her friend.

“And how often is that the case?” Remus asked dubiously, nudging her hip to get her to turn and face him. Hermione readily complied, and was rewarded by him pinning her against the counter and claiming her lips in a searing kiss.

“I could probably count them all on one hand,” she admitted breathlessly, grinning against his mouth.

Hermione glanced at the simple clock on the wall, nowhere near the specialized device the Weasley’s had, and calculated if they had time for a shag before their guests arrived. Unfortunately not.

“There’s still time to change your mind,” Remus said softly, misinterpreting her reaction.

“No point putting it off. There are things I need Bill’s help with to put in place with the goblins for when this is all over,” Hermione reminded him, though she had not shared the specifics. Namely, an agreement that the goblins wouldn’t hold any one wizard accountable for damages sustained to Gringotts during the war, but rather, would allow the Ministry to assume the cost of repairs.

“Then good luck with the tartiflette,” Remus teased, turning his nose up at the French dish Hermione had prepared specifically for Fleur.

“She’ll either say it’s better back home or that this is the best she’s ever had,” Hermione predicted, privately believing each was as likely as the other.

“Didn’t you use her mother’s recipe?” Remus asked, brow wrinkling as he leaned back to get a better look at her.

“Yes, but she’s Fleur,” Hermione explained, as though that rationale were sufficient.

The sound of a knock kept him for questioning her further on the subject. Hermione remained in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on dinner as she let Remus explain everything to the newcomers. 

“You’re really from…” Bill said, coming into the kitchen without preamble. He took one look at her and broke off mid sentence. “You are,” he concluded, sounding thoroughly impressed.

Hermione, for her part, was thrown by Bill’s unmarred face. She’d completely forgotten that it wouldn’t have happened at this point in time. He’d born Greyback’s mark nearly the entire time she’d known him. They’d even gotten drunk together at Harry’s one anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and bonded over their mutually earned war scars. Those marks were as defining a characteristic for him as his long hair and earring. Same as George’s missing ear was for him.

“I am,” Hermione confirmed.

“My family?” he asked hopefully.

“You know I can’t tell you,” Hermione said regretfully.

“Had to try,” he said, shrugging and grinning. It was the same sort of easy-going, accepting grin Hermione had seen him wear a dozen or more times over the years. One that made her feel like she was reuniting with an old friend.

“Where’s Fleur?” Hermione asked, looking for the impeccable French witch.

“‘Ere,” she said, floating into the room. “Oh, Bill. It really is ‘er!” she gasped, marveling at Hermione. Being looked at with a mixture of wonder and examination left her feeling rather like a zoo animal.

“How long have you been here? What have you been up to?” Bill asked, diving right in.

Most of dinner was spent explaining how she’d ended up in the past, and all that she’d done since arriving -- including the bit on how she’d saved Sirius. Bill was precisely the type of friend he needed right then. Cool, fun, intelligent, and responsible. Bill could relate and cut loose with him without encouraging Sirius’s obscene reckless streak.

Throughout the entire meal, Fleur inserted comments about how wonderful Bill was, regardless of if it made any sense given what he’d said. Bill’s expression clearly said that he knew what she was up to, and that he felt she was overdoing it, but Fleur plowed on, undeterred. She was working so hard to convince everyone that she truly loved Bill, that Hermione wasn’t sure how she wasn’t exhausted or choking on the sentimental drivel spilling out of her mouth.

“Bill always knows just what --”

“Fleur,” Hermione interrupted, “you don’t have to win me over. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you love Bill, and we’re actually quite close in the future.”

It was a slight exaggeration, but she could see no harm in saying it.

“Zis is true?” Fleur asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Hermione said, smothering a smile at the other witch’s excitement.

“But zis is wonderful!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around Bill and kissing his cheek. Hermione was pleased to see his mostly indulgent expression was likewise smothering a grin.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hermione murmured.

The group relaxed a bit more after that, as Hermione finished out the tale of her actions with a recounting of what happened at Brockdale Bridge.

“Why did you decide to clue us in?” Bill asked, frowning over the complicated limitations on what she could and couldn’t manage to do to alter the past she was familiar with.

“I need help making a deal with the goblins,” Hermione explained.

“No way. You’re out of your mind,” Bill refused, shaking his head and leaning back in his seat.

“It’s necessary,” Hermione insisted.

“There has to be a better way,” Bill huffed, staring at her like she’d announced she was moving in with the merpeople in the Black Lake.

“There isn’t -- trust me,” Hermione said meaningfully.

Bill sighed loudly, glancing at Remus. Remus simply shrugged, having no idea why it was so important, only that Hermione was positive that it was. “I don’t think you understand what you’re attempting. Not really. You don’t know goblins.”

“As a point of fact, I do rather. Though, I’ll admit, perhaps not as well as you. But more importantly, I don’t have your current connections,” Hermione argued crisply.

Sighing again, he reminded, “Wizards never come out on top when they deal with goblins.”

“That’s part of why I need your help,” she said dryly. 

All she could remember Harry saying was that the goblins hadn’t retaliated against him, Ron, and her because there was some sort of deal in place. And goblins always honored their deals. She’d never asked for the specifics of what was agreed on, too grateful to have the mess behind her and how it allowed her to focus on other endeavors. It really was too bad for her now.

“You have more practice at it. I need to make sure I don’t lose more than necessary,” she stated, knowing it would inevitably be in their favor, but hoping to minimize the degree to which it did. “I also have leverage that can’t be made public that we can barter with.”

Hermione had worked to get laws passed that created a council of goblins, run by goblins, in the Ministry. On top of that, she’d personally overseen the laws that allowed goblins to legally own wands -- not that they needed them to perform magic. It was mostly a show of respect on the part of wizards, but it had gone a long way towards improving relations between the two groups. The fact that they’d remained neutral during the war and sustained significant losses had also gone a long way in helping her gain the support she’d needed to push the laws through. Plus there had been both Minister Shaklebolt’s and Harry’s support to bolster her cause.

“I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, but I can try. They’ve not really listened to much of what I’ve said since Bagman swindled them,” Bill warned, appearing weary and skeptical of even trying, but Hermione knew she needed him. “Maybe I can talk to Dirk.”

“Dirk?” Hermione asked, the name ringing a bell, but an old, dusty one that barely sounded anymore. Little more than a dull clang reverberated through her mind.

“Dirk Cresswell. Head of the Goblin Liaison Office,” Bill prompted, looking as though he believed she should have recognized the name if she were as familiar with goblins as she’d implied she was.

“Right…” Hermione said slowly. The name finally registered. She’d inherited some of his files after the war. He’d died while she’d been on the run, but the details were murky. Quickly, she smoothly tried to cover her laps, agreeing, “Yes, he should be able to help.”

After that, Remus steered the conversation towards wedding plans, which Fleur eagerly discussed, relishing every moment of detailing the happy event. It was such a contrast to the morbid talk they had been wading through up until then, that even Hermione found herself occasionally laughing. For the most part, though, Hermione feigned interest, preoccupied with her plans for brokering the goblin deal and her own memories of the upcoming wedding. 

The young couple had to work in the morning, so they didn’t stay too much longer, their evening together already starting late because Remus had been visiting Harry.

Fleur caught Hermione’s arm as she was leaving, squeezing it as she frankly said, “We can spend time togezer while ze boys are busy being boys. I have not made any female friends in Britain yet.”

Hermione wondered if that had been part of the problem. Fleur was overcompensating because she was lonely. The part Veela was probably very popular back home, and it was always difficult being the newcomer when the group you were joining was so tight knit. Ginny had faced a similar challenge, though luckily, Harry had taken to leaning on her and turning to her more and more that first year after the war. The same had happened with Val too. 

Fleur’s loneliness made a sad sort of sense that left Hermione feeling unaccountably guilty. Ginny had never cared for girly-girls, Hermione either for that matter, but she’d also been jealous of Ron’s infatuation, and that had stopped her from getting to know Fleur before the incident at Malfoy Manor. Even after that, when she had genuinely appreciated the other witch, Hermione hadn’t tried overly hard to spend any quality time with her.

“Drop by anytime. I’d welcome the company,” Hermione said easily, sincerely meaning the open invitation that she extended. Fleur’s answering smile was blindingly brilliant, and Bill looked rather dazed as he escorted her down the drive to the Apparation spot.

She also had to admit, she was rather impressed that Remus seemed immune to Fleur’s Veela charm. Whether it was his werewolf nature or her, she didn’t know. Regardless, it was a very welcome change.

~

The next morning Remus left around nine to help Tonks escort the Hogwarts Express. Remus was seeing it off at the station, and Tonks was to be positioned in Hogsmeade after thoroughly checking the train. Each was to scout the area and be there to respond if an attack occurred.

Before he’d left, he’d let her know he’d be rejoining the pack as soon as the train departed from King’s Cross station. At least they’d gotten to enjoy being together the night before.

Hermione hadn’t dared ask how he felt about working with the metamorphmagus, knowing it’d be a sensitive subject. They’d worked quite well together in the past though, and Hermione suspected they were both more than capable of putting their recent issues aside for the sake of the students’, particularly Harry’s, safety.

“Bill dropped in this morning on his way to work,” Fred said, plopping down on the sofa. He’d showed up without warning, a few minutes earlier and apparently decided to make himself at home. “Got yourself another Weasley in the know it seems.”

“Must be slow at the shop today if you’re here,” Hermione mused, watching him suspiciously. Was he plotting a way to try a new joke product on her? He’d already tried and failed twice since he left school.

“‘Course it is. All the little pranksters headed back to Hogwarts today,” he said mournfully, adopting a put upon expression. “Owls probably won’t start arriving until tomorrow with mail orders. And we’re thinking of expanding to Hogsmeade. George and I can’t live together forever -- Angie would never go for it, so we could each run our own shop with Sirius storing up our inventory. What do you think?”

“It sounds very ambitious of you,” she said vaguely, not knowing what else she could safely say. 

He wanted to live with Angelina? As far as Hermione was aware, Fred had died before that happened. How much had she missed during her time at Hogwarts? Sometimes it was easy to overlook the fact the the other members of the Order were real people with their own lives while she’d been focused on graduating and keeping Harry alive. Being behind the scenes now was a constant revelation.

Fred eyed her then grinned. It was the look of someone scheming. Or possibly the result of knowing something secret you’d rather the person not know.

“I learned long ago not to accept food or drink from you, if that’s why you’re here,” she warned.

“Your distrust wounds me -- especially since I come bearing a warning,” Fred said, grin sobering by the time he finished speaking.

“Warning?” Hermione asked, instantly on edge.

“You might want to steer clear of George for a while. He’s a might put out with you today,” Fred said mildly.

“What have I done to George?” she asked, frowning.

“He and Tonks called it quits last night. She finally confessed the reason behind her wonky abilities lately,” Fred said meaningfully, pinning her with a cool, judgmental look that had her cringing.

“Oh,” Hermione breathed. For once, words alluded her. They’d fled, abandoning her to the censure Fred was ready to cast her way. And she couldn’t deny that she’d earned every bit of it.

“Yeah, not really sure what you were thinking telling them about that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“It’s what would have happened if I weren’t here,” Hermione said defensively. 

Part of her recognized that she’d handled the whole situation poorly. But she was the first to admit she wasn’t perfect. When emotions were involved it wasn’t easy to remain the rational and logical individual everyone always expected her to be.

“Thought you were always here though,” Fred said, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t actually know everything, and I do occasionally mess up,” she snapped, annoyed that he’d pointed out the flaw she’d just recognized herself.

“I’ll say,” Fred quipped, sighing heavily.

“What happened between them?” Hermione asked cautiously, not sure she wanted to hear about it, but finding herself morbidly curious despite herself.

“You want the gory details?” Fred asked, sounding torn between surprise and reluctance.

“I feel responsible,” Hermione acknowledged.

“As you should,” Fred quipped.

“Fred!” she snapped tartly, glaring balefully at him.

“George is eighteen. He’s not ready to be a parent or even talk about it with the witch he’s only just starting to get serious with,” Fred said simply, as if that explained everything. 

Harry had been seventeen when he took responsibility for a large chunk of Teddy’s welfare, hosting him two to three nights a week for years on end, but that was neither here nor there. 

“But he’s pretty sure he loves her, so after they went a few rounds, the specifics of which I don’t care to get into right now -- especially considering you didn’t include my brother in any of the decision making here when he has as much right as you…” he paused, nodding at the wince Hermione felt twist her face. It was a fair point that she should have considered herself. “He said if she wanted a kid, then fine, he’d give her one.”

“What?” Hermione gasped, sitting up straighter as he threw her for a loop.

“Oh, just wait -- I haven’t even told you the best part yet,” Fred muttered darkly, though a little too eagerly now that he’d gotten started.

“Fred, enough already. What happened?”

“She said she didn’t want his kid right now...she wants Remus’s,” Fred announced grandly.

“She wants Teddy.” Hermione understood. 

Another child couldn’t replace the promise of the one she’d seen. They weren’t interchangeable. It didn’t work like that. It was so much worse though, because they’d already agreed not to have him.

“Yeah. George didn’t take it well. Right furious, more like, that she’d rather shag her mate’s bloke than him to --”

“It wouldn’t be like that,” Hermione insisted, annoyed he was making it sound so dirty and sordid. 

Fred gave her a pitying look, as though she were deluding herself, but returned to his story, wincing as he added, “Said he was out if it was like that. I don’t think he meant it, and worse, I don’t think she believed him, because all she said was it didn’t matter -- Remus had already refused.”

Hermione had a feeling he was heavily paraphrasing as she asked, “What did he say to that?”

“That he was glad they’d not wasted any more time if they weren’t going to work out anyways.”

Hermione groaned. It was such a prideful response. Probably the exact thing Ron would have said if he were in George’s place.

“How’s Tonks?”

“She looked a little shell-shocked when she left,” Fred admitted, then added, “but consider it from George’s perspective. Tonks is the first witch he’s ever fallen in love with, and out of the blue, she tells him she wants to have another bloke’s child. No one can be expected to put their best foot forward in that situation.”

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” Hermione said softly, regretting that things had come to a head the way they had.

Had she made a mistake getting involved with Remus? She wouldn’t have if she’d known how much it would alter things. Or maybe she would have. It was nearly impossible for her not to be selfish where Remus was concerned. She loved him entirely too much not to risk everything for him.

And Tonks… Oh, Merlin. Hermione could think of at least a dozen better ways to handle things now. Now that it had already mostly gone to hell.

Tonks hadn’t even had a month to adjust to the news or the disappointment. And now she’d lost her boyfriend on top of everything else. Guilt swamped Hermione. Her presence had altered both George and Tonks’s lives dramatically. No wonder Tonks had been depressed all year. Her whole world had just been turned upside down.

“I know,” Fred allowed, shrugging casually. It was strange seeing him look so young, and having him be the one forgiving her for messing up. Their roles had completely reversed from when they were at Hogwarts together.

“Have I caused anything else to happen?” Hermione asked wearily, dreading the answer.

“Sirius is heading to Peru to get more Instant Darkness Powder for the shop. We keep selling out and the stuff is too volatile to send by owl. Plus we’re hoping to renegotiate the price since we’re buying in bulk. Just a quick trip, no more than three weeks. But since it was your suggestion he get out, I figured you’d want to know about it,” Fred announced, startling her. Hermione had honestly figured he’d wait until after the war ended.

“He is? Truly?” 

The last week especially, Sirius had begun getting antsy and agitated. He’d even gotten drunk twice in the last few days. Remus figured it was the time of year. The new school term starting, friends reuniting, the upcoming anniversary of the Potters’ deaths, it all added up to a glaring reminder that Sirius’s life wasn’t the one he’d once envisioned for himself.

“His idea even,” Fred added, reveling in being the one to share. They all cared about Sirius, and knew what good this sort of thing would do him. Hopefully.

“Brilliant,” she declared, smiling.

“He figured this would be a good time to test out traveling since you said nothing major happens. Mostly, I think the confinement was already getting to him.”

“I worried that it might. The signs were already popping up.”

“Yeah. Stocking the shop was a good excuse to get out, so nice one. Oh, and we’re stealing Remus tonight. Wizards only, sorry. And it’ll be even better now that Bill’s in on it. Especially since Kingsley and Mad-Eye are coming too,” he announced grandly, a gleam in his eye that warned it was bound to be a wild night.

Idly, Hermione wondered if Fred was planning this to do for George’s sake or Sirius’s. She was a little surprised that George agreed to spend time with Remus after everything with Tonks. But perhaps George didn’t blame Remus since he too was against the idea of having Teddy.

“Afraid you’ll have to do without Remus this evening. He’s returning to the pack this afternoon after the Hogwarts Express takes off,” Hermione said lightly, regretting that he’d not have the opportunity. 

She might wish that she had more nights with Remus, but she would not have begrudged him a night to indulge in a grand time with his mates. 

“Bet I can talk him into postponing,” Fred challenged, innocently adding, “for Sirius.”

“Good luck then,” Hermione chuckled, knowing that reasoning likely would sway the werewolf. He’d be thrilled about Sirius getting out and away from his old, bad habits.

~

Hermione came out of the Pensieve with a start, all thought to what she’d just seen vanishing instantly. Remus was sitting beside her on the sofa. 

“You’re here!” she exclaimed, having not expected to see him for at least another week. 

“I had a couple hours where no one would miss me,” he said softly, reaching to cup her cheek tenderly. 

“I’ll take it,” Hermione breathed, tilting her head to accept his kiss.

She savored the feel of his plump lips pressing insistently against her own, and the swipe of his tongue along the seam. When she moaned at the enticing caress, Remus took advantage to slip his tongue into her mouth and run it deliciously over her own. He tasted of chocolate, and the knowledge stirred a memory in the back of her mind.

“Besides, I feel bad that I’ll be missing your birthday next week. Thirty-two.”

“Bite your tongue. I feel old enough as it is,” Hermione groaned.

“You’re hardly old yet,” he chuckled. “And I’d rather bite yours.”

Then he nipped her bottom lip, sealing his mouth more firmly against herself when she gasped in surprise. It was several long minutes before he broke away, and Hermione’s head was spinning from the extended lack of oxygen.

“Any luck determining the next attack?” he asked, breaking the kiss to glance at the stone basin on the coffee table.

“No,” she sighed, leaning against him. “You?”

“This pack is particularly stubborn and untrustworthy,” he said coolly, but brushed his lips over hers again to lighten the disappointing news.

His taste reminded her again of that long forgotten memory, pieces starting to come together in a most unexpected fashion.

“Do you know what is happening at Hogwarts today?” Hermione asked, running a hand over his chest. When his eyes closed in response, she moved to nip his earlobe, relishing the way it made his breath shutter and his fingers tightly clench on her thigh. He was always so responsive to her.

“No, but I’m guessing you remember,” he rasped, squeezing her thigh again.

“Well, no actually,” she admitted, frowning slightly. But then she shrugged and clarified, “I can’t remember which day it happened, but I know it was this week.”

“What was this week?” he asked shakily, his voice quivering slightly when Hermione ran her tongue over the shell of his ear and exhaled a gentle breath.

“Harry beat me. He brewed a better potion than I did,” she said crossly, sitting back to watch Remus’s reaction.

“The devil he did,” Remus said confidently, his eyes having snapped open to stare at her disbelievingly. It was a balm to her ego that he was so positive that no one could ever hope of besting her. He had so much faith in her abilities.

“He did -- with the help of the Half-Blood Prince,” she replied drolly. 

She really did wish to discuss that book and some of its contents with Severus. Unfortunately, she’d have to wait until Harry no longer had it.

So much might change if he didn’t learn those useful spells like _Muffliato_. Or get detention, which ultimately led to Harry being brave enough to make a move on Ginny when she won the Quidditch Cup after replacing him. Or learn that a bezoar could be used as an antidote to poisoning. If he didn’t, then Ron --

No. She wouldn’t even consider the possibility. She would not risk the chance of losing one of her closest friends. There were so many threads tangled in every decision she made and each event she altered. Maybe Dumbledore was right, and she should stop trying to change things…

One look at Remus, and she knew she had to try and save at least a few more people. She was too selfish not to.

“Who?”

“You truly wish to know?” Hermione asked, considering the ramifications of telling him. She couldn’t see how the knowledge would change anything. And considering they were rivals, and in the same year, he might already know.

“It won’t change the future?” Remus verified, watching her closely.

“I wouldn’t think so,” she replied slowly, still having identified no dangers. “So long as you keep the information to yourself.”

“Agreed,” Remus said easily.

“Severus Prince Snape. He’s a half-blood,” Hermione said.

“He is?” Remus asked, sounding astonished. 

So much for the idea of thinking he already knew. But Hermione could see him applying that knowledge to the memories he had of Severus from school, and watched as a new understanding came over him.

“Yes.”

“Is that book part of why you trust him so much?”

“No,” she answered tartly. That book had been a menace -- at least as far as her potions reputation went. And all the fighting that resulted between her and Harry because of it.

“Wait, he helped Harry beat you?” Remus asked suddenly.

“He left his old book in the classroom. Harry learned more from him when he wasn’t his teacher, than when he was,” Hermione explained, knowing that much was at least already happening, so there couldn’t be much harm in sharing.

“And you’re not happy about that,” Remus mused, biting back a grin at the disgruntled expression she could feel reshaping her features.

“I actually thrive under Severus’s unique style of teaching,” Hermione said brusquely, huffing a little. “Yet Harry beat me -- even after I answered all of the questions correctly.”

“Questions about what?” he asked, gently steering the conversation away from the touchy subject of Harry surpassing her academically -- even if he’d had to cheat to do so. 

Hermione realized how lucky she’d been that neither Ron nor Harry cared overly much about their grades. If they’d actually tried to compete with her, they probably wouldn’t have remained friends after the first time one of them beat her. It would have pushed her to work harder, but she’d have been a right nightmare to them afterwards, and they’d not likely have stood for it.

“Amortentia,” Hermione replied, one side of her lips quirking up as she said the name of the Love Potion.

“Hmm,” Remus hummed, his lashes lowering over his brilliant blue eyes a bit. The action gave him the look of a lazy predator planning to toy with its supper a bit before eating it.

“It was always you,” Hermione announced, having made the revelation a while ago, but not having a good time to bring it up. “You were what, or who, I smelled. Even back then.” 

She wondered if she could get her hands on a book about the potion. It was curious to her. She’d definitely not harbored a secret, or even not so secret, crush on Remus during her school years, yet it was his scent that the potion gave off. Why? How? Did Remus simply smell like the things she was attracted to, or was the potion semi-sentient as so many things in the wizarding world were? It made no sense. 

Perhaps Severus would know something about it. Though that would mean discussing the subject, and he was likely to be scornful and borderline malicious if she did. Sentimental drivel was not a natural part of their friendship. And the one time he’d been involved in knowing about the state of her love life, he’d, possibly deliberately, stirred the pot. Though if she approached the topic from an academic stance --

“What do you mean?” Remus asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“I used to try and make Ron fit, but it never quite worked,” Hermione admitted, knowing he probably wouldn’t like that very much.

He’d already admitted to being a bit, irrationally as he’d put it, jealous over her relationship with Ron. That had been right after he’d dropped her off at the Burrow over the summer and he’d watched the two of them greeting one another, both blushing and stammering. He didn’t like the idea of her with anyone else. She’d not commented, having already become familiar with his possessive and jealous side the year prior. 

He’d started to tell her something else, but then he’d stopped himself. She wondered if it had to do with all of the relationships her younger self would be in with other people while she was with him, or if it was something else entirely. She’d attempted to coax him into discussing the issue, not wanting to let it fester as they’d done the year before, but he’d refused, and eventually, she’d dropped the subject.

At least he wasn’t as much of an ogre as Ron used to be when he got jealous -- a trait Val actually liked. She swore it was a turn on to watch him get all huffy with her Quidditch fans or accuse her of flirting with some bloke or another, then have him show her that he was the only one allowed to have her. Both the knowledge of their relationship dynamics and the defensive fighting were things Hermione could do without. Probably part of why she and Ron hadn’t worked out in the first place. 

“Explain,” he demanded gruffly, tugging her onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her. The reassurance through physical contact was a much better way to handle his jealousy, and one she could get on board with. 

“I thought it was grass, from his Quidditch obsession, but it’s really the woods. Sandalwood, ponderosa pine, the wildness of your wolf,” Hermione explained, weaving her fingers in his greying hair to scrape her nails along his scalp as she did. His eyes closed, and he leaned into her soothing caress.

“What else?” he asked hoarsely. 

“Parchment,” she said, recalling how she’d never been able to find a proper way to associate it with Ron -- other than to pretend it was because he was so into her and she was always dashing off to the library.

“Because Ron is so studious,” he teased, having already relaxed and gotten over his momentary doubts.

“Because you’re forever writing. Every spare moment you have, you’re jotting things down,” she explained. If she were to search the pockets of his robes at this very moment, she’d bet she’d find no less than three scraps with dialogue or plot twists scribbled across them.

“So now you know you smell me,” he announced, sounding supremely satisfied.

“Yes,” she said, dropping a light kiss on the base of his throat. “Because of that, but also because of the final ingredient.”

“Which is?” he asked, and Hermione grinned, not answering immediately. “Do I have to force it from you?” he asked, raising a questioning brow. When she snorted at the mock threat, he began tickling her sides, not letting up until she was squirming and panting between peels of laughter. 

“No!” she gasped. “Enough! Enough, I give. It’s chocolate! Chocolate,” she breathed, feeling her chest heaving when he finally relented.

He stared down at her. All of her moving about had resulted in her reclining on the sofa with Remus crouched over her. Then he was kissing her. It was wild. Possessive. Desperate. Loving. He poured his love into her, and she eagerly accepted it, allowing it to fill her up.

“Because you are also forever eating chocolate, and your kisses always taste of it,” she said against his lips, tasting hints of lingering chocolate. He pulled back, smiling softly, but she noted the lingering question in his eyes. It prompted her to explain. “I thought it was the chocolate frogs Rons loves, but the scent is all wrong for it to be them. Those are too sweet. This is more bitter and… decadent. Dark. More… seductive,” she finished.

“Honeydukes chocolate,” he supplied.

“Yes,” she agreed, nodding.

“You’re what I smell with it as well,” he admitted.

“What?” she asked, shocked.

“I’ve known for longer than I care to admit,” he muttered, shifting slightly to brace himself on his elbows over her and settle into the cradle of her hips. 

She understood without him saying it that he meant since she’d been his student. Likely, it was a result of being in the dungeons when Severus brewed it for his students, and because of his wolf. So he’d smelled it before being attracted to her the same as she had him. How intriguing! Now she really wished to learn more about how it worked.

“What do you smell?” she inquired, not commenting on his confession or acknowledging the uncomfortable strangeness of how the potion worked.

“The Hogwarts library -- you always have the scent of old books about you,” he said, listing the first aroma.

“Knowledge has a potent scent,” she said dryly.

“I think you mean appealing,” he correctly teasingly.

“What else?” she prompted.

“Jasmine,” he said, nuzzling her neck, and inhaling deliberately. It was the scent of her body wash and shampoo. “It’s Moony’s favorite flower.”

She’d have to ask about that another time. The way Remus sometimes referred to his werewolf counterpart as a separate entity always intrigued her, and was something she was still learning about.

“And starlight,” he finished.

“Starlight doesn’t have a scent,” Hermione said breathlessly, her eyelids falling shut with a groan when Remus sucked gently on the rapidly beating pulse point in her throat and rocked his hips forward, generating an enticing friction.

“It’s the sensation I have when I smell it. Freedom and joy. A night sky light with only starlight -- no moon,” he confessed, raking his teeth lightly against the thin, sensitive skin.

Hermione shivered in response, and dumbly replied, “Oh.”

“There’s a musky scent as well. Your arousal. Moony can more easily detect it from you. I only can the days surrounding the full moon or when my mouth is between your thighs,” he said gruffly. The raw, coarse words made her already heated blood begin to boil.

“Can you smell it now?” she whispered, clutching his shoulders and rolling her hips provocatively against his. She could feel his hardness. It’s thickness encouraged her to rub herself along its length again.

“Are you saying you want me?” he asked throatily, hands already moving to undo her pants.

“Desperately,” she admitted frankly. They still had close to an hour before he had to leave again.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” he growled, pouncing on her and taking full advantage of the next hour to thoroughly love her.


	7. 7: Gate to Mornyah and Unexpected Confessions

Author’s Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think! 

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

PS I’m not J. K. Rowling, so I don’t own anything :(

~

Chapter 7: Gate to Mornyah and Unexpected Confessions

September 1996

Lupin Cabin

Hermione sorted through the reports Bill had sent over on the most recent goblin-wizard deals struck. It was tedious to read over all of them, but she was doing it anyways. Each one gave her a better sense of the required wording for the deal she intended to make.

The warmth at her back was starting to become uncomfortable. There was a fire going, heat permeating the room, but this early in fall, it wasn’t actually cold enough to need it. But Remus had built it after their initial reunion when he’d noticed how she had all the papers sorted into piles on the coffee table and scattered about the floor in the living room.

It had been more than a week since he’d visited, and as much as she wished they could do nothing more than savor these rare moments where they were safe and together, she knew they both had work that needed to get done. 

Priorities. 

Funny how it had never been difficult for her to manage during her school years or even her relationships after the war. Remus brought out a bit of a reckless, self-indulgent streak in her. Probably, he was writing about the first people that did the same for him.

Hermione glanced up to watch him write. A stack of loose parchments rested on the end table beside him already, and spots of onyx ink were splattered all over his fingers from where he was writing so quickly. His lips curled slightly at the edges, a faint smile declaring that whatever story he was jotting down so frantically was either amusing or inspired some other light, happy emotion.

He’d been at it for an hour without stopping. She doubted he even noticed the time passing. If she didn’t speak up, he’d probably write the whole night through, then end up with a stiff back and cramped fingers come morning.

It amused her how he lost himself in writing as thoroughly as she lost herself in reading. When they’d spent those weeks together in Hogsmeade, he’d often find himself prying a book from her sleeping hands and resettling her in bed with him. It was so much more preferable to the times she woke alone, hunched over in an armchair with a crick in her neck. 

Remus must have sensed her watching, because his head popped up and the ghost of a smile turned into a full one when he saw her.

“More childhood adventures?” she asked lightly.

Occasionally, he had no problem discussing his time at Hogwarts and the antics he got up to, but every once in a while, he just couldn’t bring himself to share. Even with her.

“No actually,” he admitted, glancing furtively at the stack of papers. “I have the next in that series all ready to go for tomorrow, but I got an idea for another that I’m sorting through.”

That surprised her. Kingsley had taken the next morning off from guarding the Muggle Prime Minister specifically to meet with Remus’s publicist and present his newest story. She figured he was scribbling a final scene for that or altering part of it considering he didn’t have very many opportunities to write while he was with the pack. That wasn’t a pursuit they’d tolerate.

“Well? What is it about?” she asked, exceedingly curious now. 

“A happily ever after,” he answered softly. The look he pinned her with said it all.

“You’re writing about us?” Hermione asked, startled.

“Yes,” Remus confirmed.

“But you can’t!” Hermione gasped, feeling her cheeks flush.

“Oh? Why ever not?” Remus inquired, arching a single greying brow at her. His lips twitched, and she saw how amused he was by her flustered state.

“Because… happily ever after is an ending. Our story has only just begun,” Hermione insisted, wishing more than believing that her words were true. 

She wasn’t sure if that was the complete reason she didn’t want him writing about them, but it was at least part of it. Their relationship was private. Intimate. Something wholly for them. Not entertainment for others.

Except part of her also felt rather flattered that they inspired him to come up with a story. He was so talented. She wouldn’t mind reading what he thought about --

“I want to marry you,” Remus announced suddenly, breaking her out of her thoughts rather jarringly.

Remus blinked suddenly, and went a bit pale. Instantly, Hermione knew he’d not meant to voice the sentiment aloud. Or if he had, not in such a manner.

Taking pity on him, and recognizing her own desires, she teasingly replied, “I might not always be the most romantic witch in the world, but if you want to hear your yes, you’re going to have to work a bit harder for it. Perhaps plan something at least a bit more romantic than spur of the moment while we’re working.”

His eyes heated at what her words implied, and Hermione found her breathing had shallowed quite significantly in the face of his penetrating gaze.

“But it will be a yes?” he asked huskily.

Hermione really hadn’t considered the possibility, but now that it was staring her in the face, she realized she wanted it. Marrying Remus would make her deliriously happy.

“I love you,” Hermione said softly, smiling brightly at him. “Completely. Utterly. With every fiber of my body and every thought in my head,” she added, letting him know in a roundabout way that she was on board and wanted the same thing he did whenever he was actually ready to ask.

“That’s a lot of love,” he mused, smirking slightly as relief washed over his face. 

He loved teasing her about how her brain never shut off and how smart she was. It was such a relief that he didn’t find her intelligence intimidating. Probably part of the reason she was able to fall for him so completely when initially he’d offered her a casual fling. She doubted either of them actually expected to end up where they currently were.

“It is,” she confirmed, chuckling softly.

“Think you’re up for the romantic picnic I have planned for tonight?” Remus said, watching her intently.

“Remus…” she gasped.

Hermione felt her eyes widen almost painfully. Her mind went into overdrive. Was that why he’d reacted as he had earlier? Had he already planned to propose tonight, and just accidentally let it slip out too soon? 

“I heard what you said,” Remus said, coming out of his chair and moving to sit beside her on the plush floral rug that once belonged to his mother, and taking her hands in his when he reached her. “My proposal will wait. I’m going to do it right. This was already planned just because I love you too.”

Oh. Well…

Hermione wasn’t sure what she was feeling right then. Disappointment seemed the closest. But she didn’t really understand why. She’d not been hoping or expecting a proposal until less than two minutes earlier when he first mentioned it. There was no reason to feel let down. It hadn’t been long enough for her to want it. Yet now that the idea was there, she did. Desperately. Hopefully, he wouldn’t make her wait too long.

“And today marks the one year point of my knowing that I loved you,” he added almost as an afterthought.

“Today?” she asked, startled. She couldn’t even remember anything significant happening exactly a year prior.

“We were working on your werewolf bill. Your passion when defending others like me…” he paused, shaking his head a bit as though to clear a cobweb. 

Hermione watched as his eyes came back into focus, and she detected the admiration he had for her. It was both humbling and...well, she didn’t have a word, but it made her feel about fifty feet tall. How was it possible that a single look from him enhanced her? In his eyes, she was perfect. Far better than the truth of her, and it left her with the desire to strive for more. To do more, help more, become more. 

Yes. When he did get around to asking her to marry him, she’d probably say yes before he even had a chance to get all of the words out.

A short while later saw Remus and Hermione curled up together on a blanket stargazing in the backyard. The sparkling dots formed an intricate gossamer web across the sky. Remus had made Hermione try a caramel apple, but she hadn’t liked it much. Her dentist parents had drilled a caution of sweets too thoroughly into her head. Chocolate was the one exception. 

“Another one,” Hermione requested.

Remus was pointing out “constellations” that he and the other Marauders had made up when at school. They each came with an interesting tale that rivaled the myths of ancient Greece and Rome.

“That one there,” he said, pointing at a cluster in the shape of a U, “is the gate to Mornyah.” He traced it again, upside down, and Hermione supposed it did resemble an archway when looked at from that perspective.

“Where?” Hermione asked, having never heard of such a place.

Remus hesitated, seeming to second guess sharing this particular tale. Then with a dramatic sigh, he warned, “Keep in mind Sirius came up with this one, and it was in honor of a memorable moment in his life.”

“In other words, I should be scared,” Hermione chuckled, cuddling against Remus as she prepared herself to hear the amusing tale.

“Most definitely,” he said wryly.

“Well, let’s hear it anyways,” Hermione urged.

“There was this Muggle girl he met the summer before fourth year,” Remus started, running his fingers up and down along the length of her spine. The absent caress sent shivers running through her and gave the story an almost dreamlike quality.

“Please tell me her name wasn’t Mornyah,” she interrupted, unable to help herself.

“No. It was Nyah,” he answered, a laugh only barely smothered in his voice.

“Oh, Merlin,” Hermione snorted, rolling her eyes.

“She lived in one of the gated parks. The one in Crescent Garden I think,” Remus explained. Hermione knew precisely where that was. She grew up not too far from there, and her parents used to take her for strolls through the various gated parks in London on Sundays. “Well, one day Sirius was lucky enough to convince Nyah to give him a proper snogging. Which led to his first successful attempt at getting a girl out of her bra.”

“He was only fourteen!”

“He was a handsome and irresistibly devilish bloke back then,” Remus said ruefully, his chest rumbling against the side of her face as he chuckled. The deep vibrations radiated through her.

“What happened to her?” Hermione asked quietly.

“The girl’s father found them right when he was asking if she was ready for more,” he said dryly. 

Hermione wished she could berate Sirius for his antics, only teasingly, of course. But she couldn’t really cast stones or fire shots without him turning it back around on her. It had been her fourth year when she fooled around with Viktor, after all. Teenage hormones. 

Hogwarts really should take more precautions. It was a wonder more witches didn’t end up pregnant. All it would take was Severus Snape, dungeon bat extraordinaire, lecturing on the subject of safe sex and the dangers of STDs to do the trick. Not that he’d willingly discuss the topic. They’d be one order from Dumbledore that he’d very deliberately ignore.

“I bet that gate became permanently locked after that,” Hermione predicted.

“It did. No more Nyah for Sirius,” Remus said with mock commiseration. All it did was underscore his amusement at his friend’s expense. 

His words caused a startling thought to hit Hermione. As far as she knew, Sirius hadn’t been with anyone since before his imprisonment in Azkaban. For a man used to being adored and sought after, that would be…challenging. Was he even capable anymore, or had the prolonged exposure to Dementors damaged his sex drive?

Maybe his current trip abroad would provide him with an opportunity to test things out. He was due back in about a week. Would she know? Would he behave any differently if he tried, or would a reaction only be noticeably if he was either successful or not?

It was a topic she should suggest Remus bring up with his friend. Because Hermione certainly wasn’t going to. That would accomplish nothing aside from embarrassing the wizard further.

“He always came up with the most outrageous tales.”

"The priorities of a teenage boy."

"He very much enjoyed immortalizing his accomplishment."

“Tell me one you came up with,” Hermione requested, as eager to hear more of his tales as she always was.

“All right, but it isn’t really funny,” he said hesitantly.

“Show me,” she encouraged.

Remus grasped her hand and extended it above them, their arms and hands pressed together, he used her fingers to point towards the diamond sparkled blanket of ebony sky.

“Those four stars,” he whispered, pointing towards what looked a bit like a lopsided box. Then he used their stretched fingers to connect the shimmering spots and trace an infinity symbol. He repeated the gesture, but paused on each star to name them, “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs.”

“Running together forever through the stars. An eternity of adventures,” Hermione murmured quietly, almost afraid to disturb the reverent shroud that had descended around them.

“Yes,” he agreed, sighing softly. After a moment, Remus brought her hand to his mouth to kiss tenderly.

He’d be leaving again in a couple hours, but for now they were together. Just like he and his friends were forever in the skies.

~

Hermione stood under the shower spray long after the dirt and grime had vanished down the drain. Water slouched over her face, blurring her eyes and burning her nose every time she accidentally inhaled the sharply cold liquid, the warm water long since used up and the idea of casting a warming charm too exhausting. Besides, the sting was welcome. A relief. A reminder.

There was no way of knowing for sure if the water droplets running in steady rivulets down her face were from tears or the shower head. At least no way that Hermione was willing to consider too closely because the heat of the tracks was answer enough.

She’d tried so hard to save the woman. For Neville’s sake. He’d deserved to at least have a mother-in-law if he couldn’t truly have his own mum.

But she’d failed. 

Again.

Was Hannah being told even now? Or had she already been removed from Hogwarts after being informed that her mum was dead. Murdered in her home.

Mrs. Abbott had interfered the night before when Death Eaters had attacked a group of Muggles in her hometown of Plymouth. She’d saved their lives, and been very vocal recently about wizards stepping up to protect their Muggle neighbors. 

The Dark Lord was apparently furious about it. He wanted a message sent. Dumbledore had sent a Patronus warning to Hermione that there were plans to retaliate while she and Tonks had been in the middle of planning the dinner party Hermione was hosting the following weekend. But when she and Tonks got to Plymouth, they had been wrapped up with the two giants and trying to keep them from destroying the entire town while the Death Eaters invaded Mrs. Abbott’s home.

By the time it was over, three Muggles had been injured, and Mrs. Abbott was dead. The only positive, if you could really call it one, was that Tonks had also killed one of the giants, literally saving Hermione in the process. That meant there were only five left in Voldemort’s army. But it also meant there was one fewer giant in the world, and they were already so close to extinction. 

It was a difficult truth to be a part of, knowing she’d helped to decrease their already decimated numbers.

But that was war.

She wished Remus was there.

~

Hermione hardly slept after the skirmish in Plymouth. Tossing and turning and screaming her throat raw from nightmares the few times she did manage to nod off. Too bad Remus’s scent had faded so much from the down pillows. Eventually, she’d given up on trying altogether. 

It was a Tuesday, and since she didn’t have to go to the Ministry for work like she used to, she had every intention of spending the entire day wallowing in self-pity instead. Even making something to eat had seemed too daunting a task. She was so exhausted that she groaned when the knock sounded late that afternoon. The last thing she felt up to was socializing. 

But when she opened the door and saw who stood there, her morose mood abruptly vanished. Actually, it was replaced with more than a little peevishness. 

This visit was _long_ overdue in her opinion.

“Where have you been?” she demanded tartly, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do you blame me?” Severus asked, studying her closely. His billowing, black robes formed a sort of protective cage about him, as though warding off any attack she might launch or hide him from her displeasure.

“For avoiding me? Yes,” Hermione said sharply, pursing her lips and moving aside to gesture him in.

Severus hesitated, glancing about with a hint of dismay before he entered the small house she now shared with Remus. If she had to guess, he never in a million years imagined he’d be voluntarily entering the werewolf’s home.

Hermione moved to one of the armchairs and waved a hand towards the other, but Severus remained standing stiffly by the door as he clarified, “For Black’s death,” he paused to sigh long and low, then added in a gravelly mutter, “among other things.”

“Severus…” she breathed, feeling her forehead wrinkle in confusion.

Did that mean he didn’t know? Had Dumbledore deliberately kept the knowledge from Severus? Was it because of all the problems the animosity between the two men had unintentionally caused over the last couple years? But then why hadn’t he mentioned keeping the news secret?

“You do. I hated the man, yes. But I know how you cared, so I did not deliberately try --”

Hermione saw it then. Guilt. Regret. There wasn’t much, the hatred ran too deep for that, but just enough that she knew she was seeing correctly. 

“He’s alive. Sirius is alive, Severus,” Hermione interrupted to inform him. Disbelief and doubt warred on the man’s face, so Hermione stated more plainly, “I saved him.”

“Pardon?” The single word was a shard of ice chipped off a frozen sculpture.

“I saved him that night. I can’t believe Albus didn’t tell you,” Hermione said, shaking her head. 

She still didn’t understand why he hadn’t. Had he left the news for her to share since it had been her accomplishment? Maybe he assumed Severus would prefer things that way, and that was why he had remained silent on the matter? Or was it possible he’d just had too many other things to worry about, and it had slipped his mind since Sirius was no longer directly working for the Order?

“Of course he didn’t,” Severus scoffed angrily, his lips curling back in a disgusted sneer. 

Hermione blinked at the only half-hidden rage coating Severus’s words in reference to the Headmaster. And there it was. Her answer. A new tension had sprung up between the men in light of the new task Dumbledore was requiring of him. Severus resented Dumbledore more than he ever had in the past.

“I would have told you sooner myself, but as I mentioned, you’ve been avoiding me,” she said, trying to defuse his anger, or at least give it a new outlet. Better it was focused on her considering she intended to vent her own spleen on him a bit.

“I have been rather preoccupied,” he said defensively, finally moving further into the room and sitting across from her. His back remained ramrod straight, and his eyes became unfathomable pools of ink as he glared at her. “First by playing keeper for Wormtail all summer, then by vowing to kill Albus and protect Draco.”

A wealth of emotion flared across his face, escaping the careful confines he normal maintained to present such a stoic exterior. 

“Are you angry with me?” she asked cautiously. He had every right to be. The unexpected topic helped her to put a temporary hold on her own anger. 

“Yes,” he grunted.

“You’d have wanted me to warn you?” she questioned, surprised.

“No,” he snapped. She’d already assumed as much given his thoughts on her meddling or taking risks sharing too much of the future.

“Then why are you angry?” she huffed, unable to follow his logic and giving up trying.

“Because my life is an epic joke, and you made me temporarily believe I wasn’t as awful as I feared,” he growled, color rising high on his cheeks.

“Oh, Severus,” she murmured softly.

“I’m to kill the man that gave me a chance at redemption,” Severus said mockingly, sneering all the while. “No one will understand. No one will believe I had no choice and was merely following Dumbledore’s orders.”

“You could tell them. The truth that is. All of it. Your reasoning and motivation. It is your choice to let them believe the worst of you,” Hermione pointed out practically, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from offering her opinion. Simply presenting the option was already likely to enrage Severus enough as it was.

“And what do you think Black and Lupin would do with such information? I’ll tell you -- they will strive to make my miserable existence even more of a hell than it already is,” he darkly predicted, shaking his head while he spoke. He had not even taken a moment to think it over and consider it as a valid option.

“You aren’t giving them enough credit,” Hermione insisted, stubbornly defending the two men not present to defend themselves, much as she always did for Severus when the situation was reversed.

“It’s far more than they deserve,” Severus drawled condescendingly.

“Speaking of Remus,” Hermione said abruptly, knowing their conversation would only go round and round with no resolution or changing of minds. Better to forge ahead and dive into her own reasons for being angry, “what were you thinking threatening him by saying you’d tell Voldemort about me? It’s no wonder why they distrust you!”

“It wasn't precisely like that,” Severus hedged, flushing more strongly at the reminder of his actions. Actions he had likely forgotten that he had yet to account for.

“Then how precisely was it?” she demanded, her voice taking on the high-pitched shrill sound that used to make Ron and Harry wince.

“I informed the beast that if he didn't intend to drop everything and help you when you needed it, or if he didn’t fall to his knees in gratitude that you’d even give someone like him the time of day, I could save him the trouble of ending things by informing the Dark Lord of your existence. I also may have implied that it would be enjoyable to see him suffering in the aftermath.”

“Severus!” she screeched, glaring at him furiously. 

“He was taking you for granted,” he replied simply, not at all cowed by her anger.

“You have to stop lashing out. I thought you'd learned that the things you say in the heat of the moment have consequences. You're not a kid anymore, so stop acting like one!”

“If you intend to lecture me, I will simply leave. I have had plenty recently. I have no desire to hear another one,” Severus warned in a bland tone, but the heightened color on his face belied his emotions, giving away his embarrassment over his juvenile actions. Actions that had once resulted in the loss of the friendship with the woman he loved.

Why was it that verbal sparring with him was so gratifying and stimulating? It reminded her so much of her friendship with Ron. A friendship she missed more often than she cared to admit. 

They both had this way of making her consider things from a different perspective -- one that forced her to open her mind a bit and contemplate alternative approaches that usually helped her figure things out faster. They also both presented such irresistible outlets for her frustration.

“Don’t go. I haven’t seen you in months,” Hermione requested softly, knowing he’d only stay if he truly wanted to. That was just how he was.

“I have...missed spending time with you as well,” Severus admitted hesitantly.

“Wormtail wasn’t good company?” Hermione asked scornfully.

“I had to let the vermin that betrayed Lily live in my house for two months,” Severus said darkly, his eyes narrowing in memory. Hermione almost thought she heard the faint sounds of his teeth grinding together as well.

“I don’t much care for him either,” she acknowledged baldly.

His beady little eyes had watched, apparently perversely fascinated when she’d screamed and begged for help, twisting and fighting against Greyback’s roving hands at Malfoy Manor. She’d hate him for that alone, even if he hadn’t done all the other despicable things she knew he had.

The memory caused a shutter to roll through her. One powerful enough to draw Severus’s eyes to her. 

“You were hurt,” he said proddingly.

Not wishing to discuss it, she deliberately mistook his meaning, saying, “In the Department of Mysteries? Yes. Dolohov. And I have you to thank for saving me.”

He watched her carefully, but seemed to sense her reluctance, and merely let out a droll, “Hmph.”

His eyes drifted down to the high collar of her shirt where the top of the scar was hidden. His gaze fixed on where he knew the mark would be though his expression remained blank.

“Did the scar heal?” he asked tonelessly.

“Not completely,” she admitted, tugging the collar down a bit to reveal the edge of it. “But I have worse than this.”

“I feared your organs would liquify before I could counter the damage,” he said quietly, a flicker of emotion lighting his voice almost against his will.

“Your skill in Defense is unparalleled,” Hermione praised, hoping it would shake him from his mood since she had healed up just fine. He always appreciated a little flattery when it was deserved. So few ever acknowledged it. “Your knowledge even surpassed Albus’s.”

“I don’t want to do it,” he said, his eyes turning glassy all of a sudden.

“I know,” she murmured soothingly.

His breathing turned ragged, and in an instant, Hermione had moved to sit beside him on the arm of his chair. Tentatively, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders, bracing herself for his inevitable rebuff. Instead, he shocked her by leaning into her shoulder. Warm, wet tears splashed onto her neck, and she was grateful he couldn’t see the shocked expression she wore or he’d undoubtedly have closed back up. But since he couldn’t, she recovered herself as quickly as possible, and comforted him as he cried.

“Tell me it’s worth it,” he requested in a hoarse, broken whisper, his shoulders still trembling slightly in her grip.

“It is,” she promised, confessing at least a small fraction of the truth.

“Tell me I will not be alone once it’s done,” he begged, his shoulders hitching up and down as he forced the vulnerable words out. 

“You’ll always have me,” she vowed, silently promising to stand by him even when he was an ungrateful ass or said things he didn’t mean. 

“Tell me Potter wins,” he breathed, the words only barely audible.

“He does,” she said fiercely.

That confirmation seemed to help him get a handle on himself once more. When he tensed slightly, she hastily retreated back to her separate seat and tried valiantly to pretend he had not just broken down and cried on her. She knew how sensitive he would be about the barest mention of it.

Severus tipped his chin down, letting his greasy hair fall forward to shield much of his face in a practiced move. Only the barest hint of red betrayed his previous loss of composure.

“He tried to jinx me,” Severus said suddenly, as though just remembering the incident.

Hermione ran through her memories, letting them flash through her mind like a flip book. Then she recalled. Harry had tried to hex Severus during one of their Defense lessons. He’d been furious about it.

“Be grateful he did so now. In a few years he’d have succeeded,” Hermione taunted, smirking a little. Harry dueling was an incredible sight.

Severus huffed, his disbelief readily apparent. Hopefully he’d be around to see for himself.

“Speaking of impossibilities, or at least unlikely occurrences...Nymphadora’s Patronus… Care to explain that?” Severus asked cautiously. The tentative way he introduced the subject set her on edge.

“I haven’t seen it,” Hermione replied, wondering what he could possibly be referring to.

“It’s a wolf -- a rather large cub, yes -- but unmistakably a wolf,” Severus explained carefully, seeming to tread on thin ice as he revealed his potentially unwelcome news. “I would even dare to say it was a werewolf, and not a wolf. Has something happened?”

Hermione felt her jaw drop. Tonks’s Patronus had changed? Hermione had never known that. Or had it even happened the first time?

“Granger,” Severus prodded. The impatient use of her last name snapped her out of the trance she’d fallen into.

“A cub?” she verified.

“Yes. A large wolf cub. The ears weren’t all the way up yet,” he said, describing the baby Patronus shape. It was precisely what Hermione would imagine Tonks considered her baby werewolf to look like.

“She would have had Remus’s son if I weren’t here,” Hermione said faintly, wondering at the ripple effects her presence had caused.

“Explain,” Severus demanded sharply.

So she did. Everything. Including the unanimous decision not to have Teddy despite the potential ramifications. 

It was almost worth it just to watch the sheer astonishment that crossed Severus’s face as she spun the complicated web she’d inadvertently created.

“You cared for the boy,” Severus accurately guessed as he watched her.

“Immensely,” Hermione said, squeezing her eyes closed against the pain that came from the loss.

“I’m sorry,” he said kindly, though a bit stiffly. He was probably secretly thrilled not to have to deal with another of the Marauders’ offspring. Harry was more than enough.

“It is what it is,” Hermione sighed. 

Each time she went through everything, it hurt all over again, and the resolution never changed. She was ready to simply move on. It wasn’t as if Remus was suddenly going to stop being a werewolf.

She wouldn’t want him too either. It had shaped him into the compassionate man he was. Part of her would always despise the pain and hardships he suffered as a result, but she’d never want to change him.

“Perhaps...given the situation…”

“Don’t,” Hermione said, resenting the way he was looking at her. 

It was the same look Fred had given her. Like they didn’t think she fully understood the situation. She did. She’d watched Teddy grow up. He was real for her in a way he wasn’t for the others. He was worth what it would take to create him. Not that it mattered anymore. So there was no reason to continue dwelling on it any longer.

Severus took her warning seriously, and changed the subject. They spent the next hour discussing her much improved relationship and his transition to the Defense post. Several times, Hermione caught him watching her, fidgeting and looking for all the world as though he had a confession he wished to make. It reminded her a bit of Dobby if she were honest, but each time he seemed to think better of it, and said something inconsequential instead.

After the fourth time, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore, saying, “Out with it already. There’s another reason you’ve been avoiding me these last few months, isn’t there?”

Silence thick enough to cut with a knife filled the space separating them. The barrier divided them. Yet she had no trouble hearing him when Severus finally spoke. The words came through crystal clear. In fact, they felt a bit like a jackhammer chiseling into the marrow of her bones.

“The Dark Lord wanted you. Last summer,” he said frankly. His body had gone unnaturally still.

She dreaded the answer, but she cleared her throat and forced herself to ask, “What did you do?”

“I gave him your parents’ location instead,” he said flatly.

Hermione gasped. The room spun around her. The implications of what he was saying pelted her like a rain of bullets, making her jerk and flail unwillingly with each hit.

“And got Emmeline killed. Severus, you endangered my family?” she demanded, feeling unmistakably betrayed.

“Dumbledore agreed… Better them than you,” he said, voice just as dull as the previous statement. But then Hermione saw the way his fists clenched tighter, his knuckles already bone white from how tightly he held them. He was bracing himself for her inevitable reaction.

When she’d vowed earlier to stand by him no matter what, she’d not expected to have her determination to honor that promise tested so soon.

Then his words penetrated the haze buffering her mind. _Dumbledore agreed_. He’d been in on it? Hermione already knew Severus was selfish enough to sacrifice others if it meant preserving his friend, or at least the girl that would one day become his friend. But Dumbledore? Was she really no more than a pawn to him? 

She already knew the answer. Of course she was. Hadn’t he already admitted as much to her? Anything was acceptable so long as they won in the end. And he needed her alive to help Harry.

“Albus knew?” she whispered, seeking unneeded verification.

“It was his idea. But I was the vessel that provided the information,” Severus confessed, not shying away from his part in the scheme. If he was to be judged for his part, he’d want her to know the full of it beforehand.

Had the two men been willing to risk her family because she’d not mentioned losing them, or would they have risked them regardless?

Did it matter?

Was the fact they were still alive enough for her to forget and forgive? Well, forgive, at least? She wasn’t likely to forget this anytime soon. Especially not since Emmeline Vance was dead as a result.

“Would you like me to go?” Severus asked quietly, already moving to stand, as though he’d been prepared for her to turn her back on him all along, and had just been waiting for it. More like prolonging the inevitable.

The blank mask he wore said it all. He truly didn’t expect her to stand by him. Probably, he saw this as a preview for what was to come when he killed Dumbledore. Again, a test of her vow.

No wonder he’d been avoiding her, and Dumbledore had refused to explain why.

Hermione’s parents were a subject she didn’t like to dwell on. In fact, she’d done an admirable job burying all of her feelings on the subject after the war when she failed to find them. She never allowed herself to think of them. Even if it wasn’t healthy, maybe that was the best way to handle this situation now. At least it was if she wanted to stay sane and honor her word.

“No. This war will make monsters of us all before the end. You’re a spy. You only did it because you had to keep your cover,” Hermione said, excusing his actions. It was the truth, after all.

“I am...sorry, Hermione,” he said with more heartfelt sincerity than she had ever heard from him before, and probably more than she’d ever hear again.

“Me too,” she replied sadly.

They fell into silence, for which Hermione was immensely grateful. Saying she forgave him in a roundabout way was all well and good, but the truth was that she feared she’d leap across the space separating them and try to claw his eyes out if he spoke anymore to her just then. His recent actions would take some time to move past. As would Dumbledore’s.


End file.
